Cadet Days
by Larathia
Summary: This is a collection of short stories about Squall's days at Garden - from his arrival to the graduation ball. I don't write them in any particular order, but I've chaptered them in chronological game-time order. NEW: 'Thunderbird' - Squall gets a Guardia
1. Thunderbird

Squall was six years old when he first junctioned a Guardian Force. Even then his memory was far from perfect, Sorceress-scrambled so that although everything was still there he could never consciously call it back. If he relaxed and thought of nothing at all, recollections would flicker through his mind as his eyes rested on this object or that, this scene or that.

It took rather more discipline to think of nothing at all than it did to think of anything in particular, but he tried to find time for it. Life had gotten very busy, very ordered, when they came to the Garden. He was often so tired after his classes that he just fell onto his bunk and slept, and even Seifer's frantic pounding on the door did not disturb his exhaustion. Seifer was beginning to get angry about that, but there was little Squall could do. He couldn't lessen his workload, after all, and they often did not share classes.

One day, Cid took him by the hand and led him out of his class. Squall padded along obediently, if a little warily, though Cid's strides were hard for a six-year-old's legs to match. He didn't ask where they were going, or why. Already he was out of the habit of questioning his elders. The faculty here did not like students who questioned - Seifer had already taken numerous beatings for it, and Squall did not want to experience them for himself. Just watching them had been more than enough, seeing Seifer's back a mass of red welts and his cat-green eyes too bright from holding back tears he was far too proud to shed. Squall pretended not to notice Seifer's pain - the only thing he could think of to do, since offering sympathy only seemed to make the blond angrier.

Cid led him outside, just inside the farthest gate. There was an unholy storm out there, wind and rain and thunder all competing for the harshest element. It had been several months since Squall had seen daylight for more than an hour at a time, and he stared wide-eyed at Nature's fury, forgetting the adult at his side. Already several branches had been torn away from their trees by the wind, and more than one charred circle marked a lightning strike. The clouds above roiled and churned far more than they should, though Squall could not say how he knew that. Flickers of lightning within them almost gave the impression of wings.

Cid let go of Squall's hand and pointed out at the storm. "Are you afraid of it?" he asked quietly.

Squall slanted a wary look at his Headmaster. He wasn't going to get caught making a wrong answer, no matter how tricky the question. "No," he said, glad it was the truth. You weren't supposed to be afraid of anything. He knew that. Besides, it didn't matter. If he had said 'yes' the Headmaster would send him out anyway, to learn not to be afraid. He remembered a student who had had to put his hand in an aquarium filled with tarantulas after admitting he was afraid of spiders. The screams of terror had bothered him but he'd tried not to show it - everyone around seemed to think this was exactly how one should overcome fear.

"That isn't an ordinary storm," said Cid quietly. "It happens once in a decade maybe - the coming of the Thunderbird. A Guardian Force. If you go out, and you are not afraid, you can make it your friend. But you can't be afraid."

The little boy stared out at the chaos, eyes wide. "Wow," he said. Thunderbird? It sounded beautiful - and now that he knew it _was_ a bird up there he could see it, wings trailing clouds and limned in lightning, the forceful gusts of wind the downdraft of its powerful wings. It was amazing, really, that he hadn't truly seen it before.

Cid smiled a little. "That's the answer I was hoping for," he said encouragingly. "I'll wait here. Go on out." And - with some effort - he pushed open the last gate, letting the boy dart out into the howling chaos.

Cid pulled the gate closed after him - either way this could turn out, Squall would not need him to open the gate again. If the Thunderbird objected to him, he'd be dead - no child could stand up to the might of a Guardian Force. And if it accepted Squall, the boy would suffer no harm out there at all, and would be able to open the gate himself.

Half of him hoped the child would fail, would die. It was a terrible thing to hope for - and yet this little boy was fated to fight his own wife in a duel to the death someday. Even with the possession eating away at Edea's soul, Cid could not bear the idea of her death. So he watched the little boy fighting to stay upright in the wind and rain, and made no move to help him. . . .* * * * * * * *

Squall found he really _wasn't_ afraid, though the wind threatened to knock him over and the rain nearly blinded him. There was something _clean_ about the storm, something harsh but pure, untouched. He reached out his hands to the downpour and laughed. A storm off the sea, the squall he was named for. He reached out his hands and the water fell from heaven through his fingertips, cascading down his arms, cleansing, purifying, powerful.

Not that his six-year-old mind rationalized it so far. All he really understood was that the water tingled and felt wonderful, and the winds through his rain-soaked hair made him feel like a god. He was the storm, and the storm was himself. He pointed his finger and a blast of lightning reduced an ancient tree to splinters. The storm was chaos that made things right, wearing away at sharp stones until they were smooth and safe, pulling dust and pollen out of the air, making the world anew. And nobody ever, ever told a storm what to do. He raised his head and stared up at the golden bird in the sky, flickering in and out of view among the clouds its wings trailed, reached stubby child hands as though the glowing beauty were within arm's reach. _I want to be like you. Free._ And he _was_, just like that. He looked around and realized there were no Garden Faculty here, no headmasters, no students. Just himself, and the storm, and the Thunderbird. He laughed for the sheer delight of it, and ran after the lightning.

It was then that the storm noticed him, running and playing as other children might in bright sunshine. The Thunderbird dove out of the sky, giant wings trailing lightning forks and thunder clouds as it came, heading straight for the child with quicksilver eyes and no fear in him at all.

_We are the same._

The presence took as great a delight in the wind and rain as Squall did himself. Golden wings wrapped themselves almost affectionately around his small shoulders, and suddenly Squall could see through the storm as though it were bright daylight - the rain and wind no longer blinding him. For a moment the two were one, arms-wings-feathers-fingers outstretched and trailing sparks. To Squall it was like touching a live battery, warm electric tingle flowing through his limbs, making him _alive_ in a way he'd never been before. He looked at his arms - the presence was still there, but he could no longer see it. Instead the wings were in his mind, proud golden fire tickling his thoughts. It made his brain want to sneeze, and he wriggled - how could you get your brain to sneeze?

_You're beautiful._

**We are Quezacotl**, it said, in a voice like three voices together. A man's voice, and a woman's voice, and the crackling deep voice of thunder.

_I'm Squall._

There was a ripple of amusement from the bird; evidently it wasn't used to talking but was willing to make allowances for Squall's age and evident innocence of protocol.

_Will you play with me?_

Consternation; the Thunderbird evidently had no way of answering that. **When it storms, **it said hesitantly. **And when you call.**

_Okay!_

But Quezacotl made no further reply. Maybe it couldn't talk much through its beak.

As wonderful as the rain had felt before, now it was magical. The rain plastered his hair flat against his skull, weighed down his uniform, squelched noisily in his boots - and never had he felt so alive. Like all he had to do was take a step, and he'd be somewhere brand new and exciting. It didn't matter in the slightest that he could only barely see the Garden in the distance through the darkness. It wasn't going anywhere. _I am the storm, and the storm is me. Take that, tree stump!_ He grinned as the lightning fell exactly where he pointed. He wasn't calling it down - though he was sure the golden bird could do that if it wanted to. He just seemed to know where it would strike. Maybe the Thunderbird told him, somehow. Like in a secret language, something only the two of them would know.

He wanted to tell Cid - tell _somebody_ - about the bird in the sky, the one in his head. He hadn't had anything to be this happy about since - he paused. Since when? He blinked. Oh well, it didn't matter. What mattered was the wonderful bird who would be his friend. He ran all the way back to the gate, jumping over the small gullies with ease and grace, paying not the slightest heed toward the slick, muddy ground or the sheets of rain that still poured down. Had someone asked him just then to run an errand to Balamb Town - a good day's hike away even for an adult - he would have agreed like a shot, with the tingling energy coursing through his veins. He pulled open the gate without thinking, and smiled up at his Headmaster - for the moment just a happy boy, completely drenched and not minding it a bit.

"Did you see it?" he asked, excited, inadvertently sending sprays of water at the once-dry Headmaster with every movement. "Did you see?"

"Yes, I saw," said Cid sadly - killing some of Squall's evident happiness. He'd seen the Thunderbird dive from the heavens and wrap its wings gently, protectively around Squall's small frame, seen the child's body glow brightly from the inside out as the junction took hold and Quezacotl faded from view, and _still_ saw the bright sparkle in his usually serious gray eyes - a sparkle beyond mere happiness, a sparkle that could and would light rooms, that drew any viewer to his eyes like a magnet. "You'd better get back to your room now, Squall, and get changed. Kadowaki will never forgive either of us if you catch a cold."

"Yes, sir!" chirped Squall, and ran in a direct and dripping line right for the dorms - only to be stopped halfway by an outraged faculty member, who lectured him for a good ten minutes about wearing a wet uniform, being outside without an Instructor's company, being outside at all in such weather, and running in the halls. By the time the faculty member was done, Squall looked positively dejected - and then he was berated for _that_ until Squall stood up straight and saluted, and walked - slowly - on his way, not even daring a backward glance at the Headmaster who had, after all, let him out.

Cid watched it all with a sigh. Squall hadn't known about the sparkles in his eyes. There had been sparks in his hair, too. He let the faculty member berate Squall because it killed that glow, those telltale sparks, and let Squall look the way he always had. Soon enough the faculty would realize that their young cadet had found a Guardian Force and junctioned it, and then they would take it away from him until they deemed him responsible enough not to use its power to short out the Garden. In the meantime, though, it would grow loyal to Squall - and eat away at his memories. Cid needed Squall to forget, and Seifer too if he could find another GF that could be captured without a fight. Edea had told him about her visitor from the future. It was vital that Squall forget the orphanage, and Cid's own wife, as much as possible - to make the inevitable moment of conflict easier on him.

Cid cared about the boy, he really did, but that knowledge of inevitability tore at him. Such a little boy, to one day lead the fight against the sorceress who held his wife. Such a sweet boy, to be his wife's killer. He wished _he_ could afford to junction a GF, and forget - but what was he thinking? As long as they both lived, he must be Edea's Knight, and do what she felt was necessary. No matter how much it tore at him.

He turned his back and headed for the elevator. There were reports to finish, endless mounds of paperwork to sort...* * * * * * * * *

Thunder rolled. A breeze picked up, strong enough to carry a faint spray from the sea a day's brisk hike away. The promise of rain filled the air, ruffling at his bangs like an affectionate uncle. The scrape of steel against stone drew his eyes back to his opponent. Seifer had picked up the Hyperion, pointed it at him, taunting. Squall drew his Revolver and swung, smacking the thinner gunblade down.

_The wind blows harder, heavy now with mist, clean and cold and electric._

Clang, click, clack, click clang, thrust and parry and chop and whirl and strike. It had been Seifer's idea to duel outside today, beyond the gates of Garden and the familiar terrain of the training grounds. He'd heard the weather reports, and thought by removing Squall from familiar surroundings - as well as prying faculty eyes - he could go for an easy victory, under 'real conditions', and show Squall who was truly the master of the gunblade.

_The first raindrops begin to fall, turning the rocky ground slick and dangerous._

This was not how it was supposed to go. Though they wore similar boots, Seifer was having to concentrate on not losing his footing - and Squall didn't even appear to notice the rain. There was something...odd...about his face. Fey. It was distracting, and the strikes were coming faster and Seifer had all he could do to stay upright and block them. This was not how it was supposed to go!

_Twists of bright lightning lance towards the ground, a booming roll of thunder right behind, the rain is falling more heavily now._

It was Seifer, and not Squall, who startled. Seifer could have sworn that the sparkle in Squall's eyes just then was more than just a reflection of the lightning's flash. Squall took advantage of the distraction and disarmed his opponent with a quick, twisting strike of the Revolver.

_The rain thunders down in a sudden torrent, pouring from the clouds like water from a bowl, striking the stony ground so forcefully it forms a mist above the earth._

Seifer scrambled for his gunblade, now nearly invisible in the rain-dark and falling water, disturbed by Squall's silent equanimity but refusing to let it show. "The hell's gotten into you, Leonhart?" he demanded, as he noticed the other boy making no move to get under cover. "It's fucking _pouring!_" The weather report said 'rain'. It had not said 'torrential downpour'. No one could fight in this. Yet Squall waited, quicksilver eyes gleaming in the lightning, Revolver at the ready. Were it not for the silver in his eyes, on his gunblade, on his cadet's uniform, at a mere half-dozen feet Seifer would not have been able to see his rival at all.

_The wind picks up again, turning the veritable wall of water almost horizontal. The clouds are so thick as to make day into late twilight, the only true illumination the quickening bursts of lightning._

Seifer abandoned his pride, abandoned any thought of continuing the fight - and ran for the safety of the Garden. He was bent nearly double against the wind and rain, running almost blind. Thankfully there were no witnesses - cadet black and silver making him just another shadow, invisible at any distance. Squall paid him no mind, apparently hypnotized by the rain.

He sheathed the Revolver and spread black-gloved hands to _feel_ the storm, really _feel_ it, drawn to its raw power and its cleansing strength, washing away the brooding darkness to reveal the passion beneath, stripping the habitual casing away to reveal a live wire. Alive. Here and now he was victor, and _alive_. In echo of the emotion golden wings spread in his mind - the Thunderbird's call bringing a small, victorious smile to his lips. No rivals, no Instructors, no Headmasters, no companions. Just himself, and the Thunderbird, and the storm.

No one ever, ever, tells the storm what to do.

_We are the same._   



	2. 

Roommates Squall returned to his room to find the place littered in boxes. Many were full, and there were signs that indicated there had been more of them not long ago. 

He blew out a resigned breath, blowing his bangs away from his eyes. Wonderful - he'd lost another roommate. He wondered vaguely what the reason was this time, but decided it didn't really matter. 

"Move," growled a voice behind him, and he got out of the doorway to find his now-ex roommate standing behind him, glaring. The boy marched stiffly into the room, picked up another box, and walked out again. Squall chose an out-of-the-way seat on his desktop, where he could view the proceedings without the risk of a box falling on him. 

He wasn't going to ask any of the obvious questions, like 'what do you think you're doing?' or something like that. He'd learned how to deal with this situation through many repetitions, and had found that such obvious questions usually answered themselves without any help from him. Instead he just watched and waited for the other boy to come back. 

Squall realized - though not with any great degree of surprise - that he couldn't remember the boy's name. It hadn't mattered. He'd only been here a few weeks, and Squall generally only returned to his room to sleep or study - neither activity requiring much in the way of socialization. 

After somewhat more than a half dozen boxes had been moved, the ex's evident frustration with the whole situation came to a head. "You know what your problem is?" he demanded. "You don't know who your friends are, that's what." 

Squall cocked his head; as far as he was concerned he knew _exactly_ how many friends he had. None. Pretty easy number to keep track of. The other boy growled at the indication of incomprehension. 

"You know, I tried to keep Seifer off your neck. He comes around here a lot, always looking for _you_. Not me, _you_. No wonder you're never in here. Well, I'm not taking one more punch for a kid that doesn't know how to say so much as 'thank you', I don't care _how_ short you are. You can damn well take your punches like the rest of us. I'm out of here." And he grabbed another box, to carry it wherever his next room assignment was. 

Alone for the moment, Squall shook his head. He knew very well why Seifer was always around. Seifer got his kicks by making the other cadets jump to his tune, making them react the way he wanted them to. Squall had decided early on that that was not a game he wanted to play, and it infuriated Seifer. Lately he'd taken to beating up anyone ever seen in Squall's company, since invariably he lacked the imagination to locate Squall himself. It had probably just been his - former - roommate's turn, that's all. 

Well, at least he'd have a few days of quiet to catch up on his studying, until another roommate was assigned to him. He'd gotten a little behind lately; he might have to study with Quistis to catch up. The prospect was not pleasing; she was brilliant, and significantly ahead of him in classes, but she had an unpleasant tendency to ask uncomfortable questions about his 'feelings'. The only advantage to studying with her was that Seifer wouldn't hurt her - he drew the line at beating up girls. He might kill them, but he wouldn't hit them; he had a rather twisted sense of honor that way. 

The ex-roommate disappeared with the last of the boxes. The dorm room was half empty now, silent. Squall slipped off his desk and into a chair, pulling out a textbook on the Guardian Forces and junctioning. The day faded into night, the only light in the room the one over his desk, and the only sound the turning of pages. He couldn't take notes - Seifer took a positive delight in spilling notebooks, and spilling things _on_ notebooks. So he memorized, instead. 

* * * * * * *

One week later he was completely caught up with his classwork, with an aced test to top it off. Quistis was all for celebrating with an ice cream in the cafeteria, but didn't push when Squall balked. He 'celebrated' the way he did everything else; alone. He left Quistis at the Cafeteria hallway, and made his way outside. 

Garden was timeless; you felt the same in Garden whether it was summer or winter, its halls and corridors never-changing. But outside the gates it was spring, a brisk and sunny March day. Squall liked to find a spot under a blossoming cherry tree and just watch the clouds float by for a while - the smell of the flowers brought back half-forgotten images of days when life hadn't been about classes and tests, and the sheer feeling of _space_ between him and any other human being was relaxing. 

Of course, it never lasted long. People seemed to feel he needed looking after, and invariably someone would come after him just as he'd succeeded in taking his mind off the hook. And so it was today; an older cadet moved into his field of vision and frowned at him. 

"You'd be Squall Leonhart?" he asked, and Squall nodded. "You know better than to go outside of Garden alone," the cadet continued. "There's all sorts of monsters out here. Come with me - the Headmaster wants to talk to you." 

Squall sighed and got to his feet. Monsters didn't particularly worry him - not this close to Garden. Countless 'practice missions' by cadets kept the area close to Garden relatively monster-free. He wondered what the Headmaster wanted with him; being outside certainly didn't merit the attentions of the most important man in Garden. He trotted behind the older cadet, shorter legs forced to work harder to keep up. 

* * * * * * * * *

"Squall, I'm a little concerned," said the Headmaster. "You've been here - what, seven years now? - and you've gone through several dozen roommates. It's Garden policy to have a roommate while you're a cadet, and I can't make an exception for you - but we're actually running short of boys your age who are willing to room with you. Can you tell me why that might be?" 

_Sure, _Squall thought. _Seifer finds out who they're staying with and beats the living daylights out of them. Next question?_ But he didn't say anything. Garden frowned on cadets casting blame; if Headmaster Cid didn't already know what Seifer was doing, for Squall to point it out would only land him in trouble. He just shook his head - there really wasn't anything he could say that would change anything. The Headmaster wouldn't be able to control Seifer, he had too much important work to do. Briefly Squall felt something half-remembered in his mind - something about the Headmaster, and Seifer, and the one trying to control the other. But it slipped away before he could get his mental fingers around it. 

"Well, we have a new student arriving today," Cid continued. "I'm going to put him with you, since you're both free and an established cadet. _Try_ not to scare this one off, okay?" 

"Yes, sir," said Squall dutifully, though he honestly had no idea how he'd manage that. _He_ wasn't the one beating his roommates bloody, after all. 

"Good lad," smiled Cid. "Well, off with you. It's a nice day, you should enjoy it. Your new roommate should be settled in by sundown; you can say hello to him then." 

"Sir." Squall bowed and left, not bothering to say he'd _already_ been enjoying the day. Well, he wouldn't be able to go back outside now, at least not to the blossoming cherry tree he'd been sitting under. The cadet who'd fetched him had chewed out the gatemaster for letting Squall out alone and unarmed. So he went for the next best thing; he headed for the second floor deck, and sat on the rail, one leg dangling free with the other curled up under him. The breeze was light and cool, ruffling his bangs and making little waves in the tall grasses of the fields below. Almost like water waves, really...why did that make him sad? A faint memory...sea breezes over rocks and the sound of fireworks...then the image was lost. 

He shook his head. The good mood was gone, and trying to bring it back would just make things worse. Oh well. Might as well get some studying done, then. 

Oh, yeah. New roommate. Probably no chance at studying then - there was always a few days where they kept trying to _talk_, to _make friends_. Squall knew there wasn't any point in wasting time on that - Seifer would find them, and then they'd be gone. Why make friends with someone who wasn't going to stick around? This new guy would probably be worse - being new to Garden he wouldn't have heard about Seifer yet, and would be all the more determined to force Squall into roles he was unsuited for. 

There was a godawful unholy _racket_ coming from the dorms. It was so unbelievably loud that - with the acoustics of the hall - Squall couldn't figure out which room it was coming from at first. He wondered why the administrators hadn't clamped down on it; such noise was considered a deterrent to study and therefore undesirable. Maybe they couldn't get too close or their ears would bleed; it certainly seemed loud enough. 

Squall's heart filled with dread as he realized - after getting closer - that the din was coming from his own room. _Hello, new roommate._ He'd be lucky if the administrators didn't punish him along with the new kid; after all, he was supposed to know the rules by now. He clamped his hands over his ears and ran the rest of the way to the room. 

Inside was a blond kid even shorter for his age than Squall was, his hair done up in a ridiculous spike. His puffed-out cheeks and pursed lips indicated he was whistling to the music that was so loud Squall was getting an earache even with his hands over his ears, and he was pulling out some very worn magazines and putting them on a shelf in a time-honored method - chucking them like frisbees, and seeing which ones landed properly. 

Squall located the source of the noise - an oversized boom box, of course - and turned it off by the simple expedient of unplugging it, as fast as he could. His eyes were wide with unaccustomed nervousness - the administrators could be along any time, and if he had to face down the disciplinary committee his week was _shot_. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?" he demanded. 

"Hey, chill out man," chirped the blond. "I'm just getting settled." He cast a curious eye at Squall. "You must be my roommate - either that or this place has pretty lax rules about who can go in whose room. Yeah?" He grinned wolfishly. 

"Yeah," said Squall shortly, half of him still trying to listen over the ringing in his ears for the footsteps of administrators. Quickly he shut the room door. "Don't turn that back on," he snapped. 

"What, you got no taste in music?" asked the other, surprised. 

"I have no desire to fight the disciplinary committee," replied Squall shortly. "You can't play stuff that loudly in the dorms." 

"Really?" said the blond, eyebrows raised. "It wasn't that loud." 

Squall stared, incredulous. "You need to get your hearing checked," he said seriously. "The walls were vibrating, and they're made of _stone_." 

"You were just seeing things," laughed the roommate and held out his hand. "By the way, I'm Zell." 

Squall looked at Zell's hand like it was holding a fistful of live cockroaches. This guy was nuts, and that was just one of the things that disinclined him to take his hand. "Squall," he said. 

Zell took a moment to realize that Squall was not going to shake his hand, then said, "Tch. Boy, you're just a _barrel_ of fun, aren't you. Well, don't worry. We'll get along great, you'll see." 

Squall was not so sure. Zell was loud, chaotic, and grinned too much. Happy people unnerved Squall; he always felt like they were getting a joke he missed. Well, at least he wouldn't have to put up with it for long. Seifer would take a positive glee in ruining this chirpy guy's sunny outlook. For the first time Squall felt mildly grateful for Seifer's games. 

* * * * * * *

Squall knew the day Zell met Seifer. It was pretty hard to miss the tanned blond laying on his bunk covered in bruises, with a black eye and a split lip. He looked at the injuries dispassionately; Seifer wasn't usually quite so rough - the Instructors frowned on students being _so_ damaged as to be unable to coherently answer questions or see the problems on the board, though otherwise fights weren't against the rules. Seifer aspired to working on the Disciplinary Committee, but hadn't made it yet; Zell looked like Seifer's application for the job. 

For Zell to be this beaten up, he must've either really angered Seifer, or just not known when to stay down. Both really amounted to the same thing in the end. He put his books down on his study desk, and waited. His roommate had proven incapable of shutting up even in his sleep - Squall knew he didn't have to ask what had happened because Zell always volunteered such information. 

"Hey, Squall," said Zell through stiff lips. "You know about a kid named Seifer?" 

"Yes. Everyone does." 

"Ya coulda warned me, man," mumbled Zell. "The guy's psycho. Really eyeball-rolling psycho." 

Squall's lips quirked, but he was sitting at his desk so Zell couldn't see. "You didn't say that to his _face_, did you?" he asked mildly. 

"Well, yeah," said Zell. "After he called me a 'chicken wuss' and I punched him in the stomach, anyway. Things sorta went downhill from there." 

Squall shook his head; so much for any evidence of Zell having two brain cells to rub together. "I can imagine." Well, it was a mistake he probably wouldn't make twice. 

Maybe wouldn't make twice. It was possible, anyway. 

"You shoulda seen me, Squall," said Zell, his split lip trying to grin. "I bet he looks worse than I do." 

Oh, _really_. Somehow, Squall doubted that. Even in the unlikely event that Zell really had done better in the fight, Seifer had contacts in every committee and access to healing potions. He probably didn't look like he'd been in a fight at all by now. 

"Hey, Squall?" asked Zell. "How come he was after you? Kept wanting me to tell him where you were, like I'd know that." 

_Here we go again._ "He's after me because I don't play his game," said Squall, unwilling to admit that Zell had gotten beaten because he was his roommate. "I don't get into fights for no reason." 

"Neither do I," said Zell with a touch of pride. "Hey, we got something in common after all." 

_Not really,_ thought Squall. _Not if just being called a chicken-wuss is enough to make you fight._ Still, he looked pretty bad - and he probably should have warned Zell about Seifer. He'd wanted the guy to tone down, but nobody deserved to be beaten so hard their eyes wouldn't open. He sighed; he was at least partly responsible for his roommate's condition - something would have to be done. "I'll be back," he said, and left the room - making sure the door was locked behind him. 

Doctor Kadowaki was somewhat surprised to see Squall in her office while still able to move under his own power; usually he only entered the Infirmary when so badly injured he had to be carried there. When he asked for a healing potion she gave it to him without question; she felt such a serious child probably had a good reason, and knew she wouldn't be able to pry the truth out of him concerning it. It was unprecedented that the boy would show any concern at all for another person's welfare, and she didn't want to discourage that. 

Squall got back to his room without incident, and handed Zell the potion without comment. Zell, however, was _full_ of comment. "Hey, thanks, buddy," said Zell as he downed the contents of the bottle. "How'd you get one of these away from Kadowaki? I heard she's really strict about using them." He sounded better already; stealing a glance, Squall could see the puffiness fading, the bruises going from fresh purple to fading blotchy yellow. 

"I asked her," shrugged Squall, not really sure how he'd managed it himself. 

"Well, I owe you for this, man," gushed Zell, as hyperactive as ever now that his muscles would let him move. 

"No, you don't," said Squall, meaning it, and tried to get back to his studying. 

* * * * * *

A few nights later, Zell was awakened to the sound of moaning. He stretched and checked the time; about one thirty in the morning. There was a sound of movement; in the dim light provided by the alarm clock, Zell could just barely make out Squall throwing his arm out. 

"....nnngetoffme...go 'way...." 

Still a bit muzzy-headed, Zell said, "Hey, Squall? Wake up, you're having a nightmare." Usually that was all that was required; Squall wasn't a light sleeper but human voices generally woke him. 

Not this time, though. He tossed and turned on his bunk, mumbling incoherently. Zell frowned; that wasn't right. Usually the guy slept in one position the night through, unless it was a nightmare - but even nightmares didn't make him move _this_ much, they just made him talk. Must be a really bad one. He sighed; he really was tired, but he couldn't leave Squall like that. He forced himself to get out of bed, and leaned over his roommate's bunk. "Hey, Squall, wake up," he said, a little more loudly - and reached out with one hand to shake Squall's shoulder. It felt kind of like invading the guy's privacy; they'd been roommates for about a month and never once had Squall touched him an any way - and he'd made it quite clear he didn't feel like being touched either. 

Yeah, an invasion of privacy all right. The moment Zell laid a hand on Squall's shoulder, the boy exploded into movement. 

"...get_off_me..." he growled, and the other arm swung around so hard it clubbed Zell to the floor. 

He sat up, and shook his head. Well, he was wide awake now. "Ya didn't have to hit me," he grumbled, but got no reply. Standing up, he realized that Squall was still asleep. He'd just knocked Zell to the floor and he was still asleep? 

Zell reached out again - more carefully this time - and touched Squall's arm. Almost immediately he yanked it back; it was _hot._ He gulped - keeping an eye out for the flying other arm - and tentatively touched Squall's face. Burning hot - and the touch didn't wake Squall, when Zell knew that it should have. 

Not asleep. _Fevered._ Well, Ma Dincht's little boy knew just what to do about that. He threw on some clothes and darted out the door, heading for the Infirmary at top speed. 

* * * * * * * *

There was enough commotion to wake the boys in the rooms on either side as medical cadets got Squall to the Infirmary. He didn't just react violently to Zell, it was found - anyone who got too close got some, and the moans and half-coherent cries were getting lounder. Squall hadn't chosen his weapon yet, but all cadets had some hand-to-hand and kept fit. It took four older cadets to get him onto a gurney, and Zell wasn't allowed to tag along in case it was contagious. 

The boys in the neighboring rooms had surprising attitudes, at least as far as Zell could tell. As one, when they realized who it was heading for the Infirmary, they groused over lost sleep and headed back to their beds. Not a one gave a damn about Squall other than the fact he'd woken them up. 

This made no sense to Zell, none at all. Yeah, he could be cold...but he'd gotten that potion when Zell needed it, hadn't he? And he'd never once teased Zell the way other cadets sometimes did, even if he _could_ be bitingly sarcastic when he felt Zell had asked something stupid. He didn't deserve _that _kind of cold shoulder, not when he was sick. Shaking his head, he went back to bed - he'd head over to the Infirmary as soon as he had time tomorrow, see if they would let him in. 

The next day _crawled_ by for Zell, even the hour in hand-to-hand combat that he usually really enjoyed. As soon as his classes were done he sprinted for the Infirmary - grateful that at least he could still outrun Seifer, even though Seifer was bigger. Kadowaki didn't seem surprised to see him. 

"You're the one that called him in, aren't you?" she asked. "The new student." 

"Yes, ma'am," said Zell with a grin. It was good to be recognized. "Is he okay?" 

"Not just yet," said Kadowaki, "but it's not contagious. Was he...oh, I don't know...a bit 'not-there' yesterday afternoon at all?" 

Zell thought about it. "I dunno," he admitted. "Squall's never much into talking. He didn't get a lot of his homework done though." 

Kadowaki nodded. "Well, that clinches it. You remember the immunization shots?" 

"Oh yeah," said Zell. "Those really hurt." 

The doctor nodded, smiling a little. "Yes, they do hurt, but they keep you cadets from getting sick. Well, it it appears that Squall just had a reaction to the shots, that's all. Not very serious if you catch it in time, and it looks like you did. We had to tie him down for a while until his fever broke, but he's sleeping now if you want to say hello." 

"Ummm...." Zell had no idea how Squall would take that. It was possible the answer would be 'very badly'. On the other hand...the image of those other cadets last night, pissed off because Squall had interrupted their sleep, haunted him. Didn't Squall have any friends at all? Didn't anyone in Garden _care_? 

Kadowaki looked at him curiously, noting his concern and worry. "You're the one, aren't you," she mused. "You're the one he got the potion for, am I right?" 

Zell blushed; maybe he'd just gotten Squall in trouble, but he was terrible at lying. He nodded. 

"It's all right, Zell, you're not in trouble and neither is he. I just wondered, that's all. Go on in, but try not to wake him." She watched Zell's face blossom into another sunny grin, and shook her head as he darted inside. Amazing, really. Squall was usually so terrible at making friends, but if she was any judge he had one now. Probably couldn't shake Zell off if he tried, which was good - at least as long as they didn't kill each other... 

* * * * * * *

Squall looked very small in the medical bed, designed as it was for full-grown people. Pale, too, with some of his sweat drenched hair plastered to his head. Zell's wiser half was telling him to get back to his room; he knew Squall well enough by now to know that the boy hated to be seen in any state of 'weakness'. But Zell had Ma Dincht's teaching behind him too, and that teaching said one did not pass by on the other side. Nobody else gave a damn about Squall - well, then, Zell _would_. 

Just to be sure he really was all right - because he sure didn't _look_ it, even if he wasn't tossing around - he reached out and touched Squall's hand. He grinned - yep, cool. Cold, even, but that could just be the air conditioning, or poor circulation. He could see Squall was still breathing. He jerked his hand back quickly when he saw Squall's gray eyes snap open. Oh yes, he was better now. 

Squall looked around, confused, and frowned. He tried to sit up, and immediately put a hand to his forehead as though he had a headache. After a moment of sitting very still, he put his hand down and seemed to notice Zell for the first time. If anything he looked more confused. "Zell?" he asked, sounding uncertain. "What are we doing in here?" 

_We?_ He was as surprised to find Zell nearby as he was to find himself in a hospital bed? That clinched it - he needed a friend. Nobody could look after themselves _all_ the time, even such self-reliant types as Squall. "Um, you took bad from the shots, the Doctor said," he explained. 

Squall took a moment to digest that, then nodded in understanding. He cocked his head to one side, face blank as he looked at Zell. "And you?" he asked. 

Under that direct stare, Zell felt a bit defensive. "I jus' wanted to be sure you were okay," he said. "You got a problem with people giving a damn?" 

Squall didn't look away, but his eyes got that clouded look that said he was thinking. After a moment he shook his head and fell back on the pillow, letting his eyes close. When Zell realized he wasn't going to say anything more, he left. 

Kadowaki stopped him before he managed to get out of the Infirmary, though. "Zell - look after him, will you? He won't make it easy on you, but he needs a friend." 

Zell looked up at her, blue eyes unusually sharp. "Yeah, I kinda guessed that," he said slowly. Then he grinned. "Don' worry about it. I'll take care of everything, you'll see." He darted past her, out into the halls, happy again. Kadowaki wondered what Squall had done - probably unintentionally - to make such a cheerful boy so quickly devoted to him. Surely something besides just the potion...? 

* * * * * * * *

Squall wasn't asleep in the hospital bed. Once awake, the unfamiliar surroundings kept him from sleep. He just didn't want to deal with people right now. 

Zell was...puzzling. Why had he come here? For that matter, how had he, Squall, ended up in this bed? He certainly didn't _remember_ coming here, though that in and of itself was hardly unusual. 

"You can open your eyes, you know," came Kadowaki's voice. "I know you're not sleeping, so you can quit trying to fool me." 

Squall opened his eyes to glare at the doctor, his expression clearly saying he was not in the mood for this. 

"You can put away that sour look too, or I'll administer your medication with a needle." 

Lips tightened for a moment, then his features resumed their habitual mask. 

"You probably ought to be nicer to your new roommate. He probably saved your life." 

A blink. Kadowaki bit back a sigh; he was only twelve - he shouldn't have so much control. Not for the first time, she wondered what had made this boy so reserved; it wasn't uncaring, of that she was certain. Too often she saw signs that he was biting back some emotional response, as though he feared to show it. 

"You had a reaction to the immunization shots," she continued, "though Zell probably already told you that. You ran a high fever, woke him up in the middle of the night with your hallucinations. You hurt him, too, though you probably don't remember that. If he'd left you alone, you might have died. All he had to do was turn over and go back to sleep." 

A frown; Kadowaki could read the question in his face - _Why didn't he, then?_ But she wasn't going to try to answer that. She was the Garden's counselor as well as its chief medic - and as a result she knew every SeeD and cadet very well. Squall wouldn't believe her if she told him. He'd have to work it out on his own - if he could. 

"You can head back to your room as soon as you feel up to it," she finished, "and take the day off. I've cleared it with your Instructors already. Your classwork should be in your quarters." She left him alone then; he seemed to need to think things out. 

* * * * * * *

Zell came back from his classes to find Squall at his desk, cleaned up and dressed in his habitual black cotton fighter's pants and white shirt, but still looking a little pale and tired. He acknowledged Zell's greeting with a nod, not looking up from his studies - but Zell didn't mind; before now, Squall hadn't acknowledged him at all. A nod was _progress_. 

"Hey, Squall...Seifer's looking for you again," he said by way of conversation. "I think it's cause he didn't see you in class today. I outran him this time, though." 

"Tell him where I am, next time," replied Squall calmly. "If you do that, he won't bother you." 

Zell blinked. This was new..."Yeah, but how do I know where you are?" he piped. "Besides - he just wants to be his usual asshole-y self to ya. You can miss that no problem." 

"Tell him to look for me on the second floor deck," said Squall, still eerily quiet. He looked at Zell's face for a moment, and frowned a little. "I mean it, Zell. Tell him." 

It was Zell's turn to frown. "Well...if you're _sure_..." 

Squall nodded, gray eyes flat and hard. Then he turned back to his book. 

* * * * * * * * *

Squall sat on the rail of the deck, sitting on one bent leg and letting the other dangle free, and mentally said farewell to the spring breeze with its fragrance of flowers and cherry blossoms. None of his previous roommates had known that this was his private retreat, so none of them could have told Seifer where to find him. He hadn't gotten involved in those fights; to get involved was to play Seifer's game, dancing to his strings, and if there was one thing Squall valued it was his own independence. That, and his privacy. 

To be fair, none of his roommates had ever _asked_ where he went, when he went off to be alone. Even Zell hadn't asked. 

He didn't regret telling Zell much, though. There would be other places of retreat, other secret hideaways where other people couldn't find him. There were probably hundreds of such places in the Training Center alone. 

But none of them would smell of flowers. None of them would ever have a breeze like this, pure and cold and sweet with the tang of rising life. So none of them would stir the ghosts of memories, where days hadn't been about classes and combat but had had something else, something that had made him smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to smile about. 

That was his repayment. Zell had possibly saved his life, when he'd certainly had no reason to. That was a debt, and it had to be repaid. So Squall would leave the ghosts in their graves, and surrender a bit of his freedom to get entangled in Seifer's games. It wouldn't save Zell's life, but it would make that life a little easier. It was awkward, but the best he could do. He slipped off the rail to stand on the deck, resting his elbows on the rail. 

A heavy booted tread sounded behind him, two others sounding after it. Seifer and the posse, no doubt. "So this is where you've been hiding, runt," came the taunting voice. "Finally twisted it out of that little roommate of yours - we hardly had to hurt him at all." 

A gloved hand clamped hard on his shoulder, and Squall said one last silent farewell to the wind, the flowers, the cherry blossoms... 

And answered with a sturdy right hook to Seifer's jaw. 


	3. Day of Choice

Day of Choice The line of cadets stood nervously, thirteen year olds nervous and excited with the first taste of adult responsibility. Today they would choose their weapon of choice - they'd still be trained in the use of many others, of course, but their weapon specialty would help determine what missions they were chosen for in years to come, and who their partners would be. 

This room was supposed to help them choose - a huge wall hung with every weapon Garden could make or obtain. There was a range at one end, to help those who chose missile weapons. There were also pells for bladed weapons, and punching bags and other stationary objects for more close-combat choices. 

The weapons were real, of course. Garden did not believe in protecting children from the consequences of stupidity or ill-thought gestures. In a very short time these children could become full-fledged SeeD; it would do no good to coddle them. The Weapons Master didn't try; she just glared at them like a valkyrie pulled off her coffee break until they calmed down. 

"You're here to choose your weapon specialty," she said in a voice like the cracking of a whip. "You may test any weapon you like on any of the equipment here - don't worry about damaging it, that's what it's here for. If you can't reach a weapon, let me or one of my assistants know and we'll get it down for you. If any of you bring that wall down you will be lucky if you just get expelled from Garden. Once you've made your choice, come to me with it and I'll note it down. You may _not_ make off with any of the weapons in this room - they're real, but in many cases they're the only models we have. We'll make you one of your own that's custom fitted to your own style and any design requests you may have - hope you've done your homework! All right - go on, take a look." 

She stepped to one side, and indicated the young cadets were free to examine the weapons. Girls and boys immediately broke the line to study them up close, oohing and aahing over the ones they found. 

The Weapons Master watched three of them in particular; she'd been warned by the Instructors that they were often involved in fights and didn't want them to try it in here. A lanky blond, just hitting his growth spurt, with angry green eyes. A much shorter blond with the legs of a runner and an air of devil-may-care friendliness. And a quiet brunette, pale eyes vaguely dissatisfied with the display before him. They didn't really look like much trouble, but the Master took the warnings of Instructors seriously. 

Seifer picked up a heavy flamberge, the blade of the sword easily as tall as he was himself. He grinned wickedly as he 'accidentally' swung it dangerously close to the other two. 

"Hey, watchit there!" piped Zell, just barely getting out of the way. "Whaddaya want something that big for, anyway?" 

"Knights use swords," said Seifer. "It's all in the histories, dumbass. You'd know that if you ever paid attention in class." 

"No good for distance shots though," dismissed the brunette, continuing his study of the wall as though he hadn't nearly been cut in half. 

Seifer, failing to get a rise out of him, put the flamberge back and checked out the distance weapons, momentarily settling on a rocket launcher. 

Zell decided to try to ignore his blatant attempts at unnerving him - the Weapon Master would get on Seifer's case big time if he fired a rocket launcher in here. "What're _you_ gonna choose, Squall?" he asked, clearly respectful. 

Squall didn't seem to notice, just running his eyes over the weapons. "I'm not sure," he said. "Something that works everywhere if I can find it." 

Zell considered this, cocking his head back at the incredible display. "Don't think there is such a thing," he said. "_Every_ weapon has a drawback. The missile weapons either run out of ammo or there's a delay while whatever it shoots comes back to you. And this melee stuff...if someone _does_ point a gun at you it's useless. Screw the whole idea, anyway." He reached out and picked up a pair of combat gloves, a cestus. "I'll go for this. You'd have to take my hands off to disarm me. _And_ I'll always have surprise on my side." 

"Was that an offer, Chicken-wuss?" came Seifer's taunting voice. He was back to swords again, this time holding an admittedly beautiful rapier. "This'd cut those hands of yours off, _no_ problem." 

"Fuck off, Seifer," snapped Zell. "Have fun, Squall, I'm outta here." he trotted towards the Weapon Master with his choice, knowing that Seifer wouldn't dare respond where the woman could see. 

Squall paid neither of them any attention, studying the weapons carefully. Once the choice was made it couldn't be altered; he'd have to do his best with his choice even if he found out it didn't really suit him. Zell's comments were valid, but they only made the choice harder. He moved away from the melee weapons, closer to the missile options. A whip, maybe? No. Too close, and there wasn't room to use it. Too far and it was out of range. Guns were good at any range...but they were _easy_. Any kid could use a gun; you didn't need Garden training for that. And while sharpshooting was respectably difficult, it was also the sort of specialty that involved a lot of sitting still. He'd be too likely to get lost in his own thoughts, losing opportunities. No, he needed something that involved his whole body - guns wouldn't work. Shaking his head, he looked back at the swords. Outdated, probably - but that just meant he'd have to be better with it, to work around its disadvantages. Maybe something with a broad blade, that he could use as a deflector if he could see where his opponent was aiming... 

Up high, indicating it hadn't been used in a long time, was a _very_ strange looking sword. It had a broad blade, though, so Squall walked over to one of the older cadets and asked if he'd get it down for him. When Squall took it in his hands, he saw why it looked so strange - it wasn't exactly a sword. It had a base like a pistol. He looked down the blade - yes, there was a little barrel in there. A rifle whose barrel was a blade? Well, it would solve Zell's dilemma. You could shoot for distance, and if you ran out of ammo you could still swing it like a sword. He frowned. If it was so good, why had it been so high up? 

He walked over to the Weapon Master. "Tell me about this?" he asked, holding it up. 

"It's a gunblade," the woman said matter-of-factly. "Sonovabitch to get the hang of, kid. Look - take a swing with it at one of the pells, you'll see." 

Squall nodded and did as he was told, trying to get the blade to go where he wanted it to. It _was_ difficult to use - because the hilt wasn't along the blade's axis, but angled from it. He tried two more swings, only getting one of them anywhere close to what he was trying for. The angled grip made keeping control of the blade much harder than it seemed. He set the tip on the ground, massaging his wrist. He decided to try the other half - the rifle half. He pulled the gunblade up and slung it over his shoulder so it wouldn't raise sparks on the floor, and walked to the range. 

That angled grip didn't help when trying to aim it, either, he found. Guns wanted a perpendicular grip so you could sight along the barrel. The gunblade had to accommodate use as a sword and couldn't do that. The blade also was a drawback when trying to fire it, pulling the barrel downward with its weight. The 'bullets' turned out to be long and slim - and when he fired it, highly explosive on impact. Pity the bullet didn't hit the target; Zell would tease him for weeks about the new crater in the wall. 

Well, he could see why it wasn't very popular. It had disadvantages all over the place - in trying to combine the best elements of sword and gun, it seemed the maker had also managed to make the advantages of either harder to access. It could take _years_ to work around those disadvantages, and what would you have at the end of it? 

Squall blinked. You'd have a weapon that _nobody_ could beat. High cost, high reward. If he learned this thing's ways, he'd never be at a disadvantage no matter _what_ his enemy was using. 

"You too, huh?" came Seifer's voice, intruding on his speculation. "I already signed up for that before we came in here," he laughed. "My own design, too. Let Chicken-wuss outfist _that_." He grinned. "You don't want to take up the gunblade, Squall," he said in a threatening tone. "Cause you _know_ that just means I'm gonna have to beat your ass down on a regular basis. Who else would I spar with, after all?" 

Squall sighed, and added that to the gunblade's disadvantages. But maybe...maybe he could work his way around that one, too. Having thought it out already, the gunblade seemed to be exactly the sort of challenge he wanted and needed. If he had to deal with Seifer...well, being Zell's roommate he _already_ had to deal with Seifer. He hefted the heavy monstrosity over his shoulder again and walked back to the Weapon Master. Seifer left him alone; you were supposed to make your choice and your specifications in private, and the Weapon Master was a stickler for tradition. 

She seemed surprised that he was still carrying the gunblade. "You really want to use that?" she asked. "Must be something in the air. Nobody touches it for years, then two kids at the same time. Any modifications you want to request?" 

Squall looked at it. He'd never seen one before today, and hadn't a clear enough idea of design flaws to have better options available. "What did Seifer change?" he asked curiously. 

The Weapon Master scowled. "You know I'm not supposed to tell you that, kid," she said. "But since you're looking a bit lost...he asked for a longer blade and a heavier charge. I warned him it wouldn't shoot as accurately but that's what he wanted." 

Good grief. It was already a bear to aim it at all, and Seifer wanted to make it harder? Not for the first time, Squall suspected Seifer of having a masochistic streak - seeing no value in something unless it was difficult to achieve. He looked at it. "I don't think I'd want that," he said. "Can you make it _more_ accurate?" 

It was the Weapon Master's turn to study the weapon. "Yeah, I think I can tinker with it to do that," she said. "It'll take some of the power away from the charge though." 

Thinking of the small crater he'd just blown in the wall, Squall nodded. "That's fine." He looked at the smooth expanse of the blade. "Could...could I get an engraving on the blade?" he asked. 

"It's going to be your best friend until you make SeeD, kid," the Weapon Master said with a laugh. "You can ask for us to engrave 'Seifer gives blow jobs for a nickel' on the thing and we'd do it. Make sure it's something you can live with for a while, though. We won't be touching any of the weapons after they're delivered - their care is supposed to be your job." 

"I understand," said Squall seriously, the Weapon Master's attempt at humor completely passing him by. He reached into the shirt of his cadet uniform and pulled out a heavy platinum ring on a sturdy chain. Taking the ring off the chain and handing it to her, he said, "Can you put this on the blade?" 

The Weapon Master was momentarily surprised; it was an adult's ring, heavy and valuable, and this kid had it on a chain around his neck. Of course, orphans could be strange like that. Maybe it was a family memento or something. She studied the carving; a roaring lion, claw raised to the attack. She pulled out a sheet of paper and sketched the design. "Yeah, we can make something more or less like that," she said. "Can't make any promises though - it's a good design and that tends to drive the engravers into fits of uncalled-for creativity. You mind?" 

"No, not really," said the boy quietly, putting the ring back on its chain and letting it disappear back inside his shirt. 

"Any other specifications you want to add?" 

"No," said Squall. 

"Then get off with you," said the Weapon Master, not unkindly. "I've got thirty more kids to register today. Look for your weapon to show up in a couple of weeks." 

Squall nodded and left the room, but wasn't surprised when Seifer caught up with him. "You did it, didn't you," chuckled the taller boy. "You went and took up _my_ weapon. Can't you be original for once?" 

Squall hadn't chosen the weapon for any reason having to do with Seifer, but he knew the boy wouldn't believe that. So he just kept walking, and said nothing. 

"You better not take my name for it," warned Seifer. "And if I find out you copied my design I am gonna beat you to a pulp." 

Squall stopped and faced his rival then, a complete lack of fear evident in his stance. It wasn't courage, though. It was just a lack of caring for possible consequences. "It won't be like yours, Seifer," he said. "I don't want the same things you do." 

"Oh?" asked Seifer archly. "What _do_ you want then?" 

"None of your business," said Squall, and resumed his walk back to the dorm. 

"Doesn't matter, brat," snapped Seifer. "When it arrives, I'll know. We'll see who turns out to be better with it - you and me are gonna be training partners for a _long_ time. If you survive it, anyway." 

"I'll survive it, Seifer," Squall replied matter-of-factly as he reached his room. He entered and closed the door behind him, relieved that only Zell had the other key. 

"I'll always survive it. That's the point." 

* * * * * * *

When the weapons arrived, Squall carried them into his room before Seifer could say anything. Soon enough there would be comparisons, taunts, fights. He wanted a few minutes where the weapon of his choice was only _his_, and not some echo of Seifer's, or vice versa. He tossed Zell the light box that presumably held the combat gloves he'd asked for, and opened his own package. 

Inside was a long black case, a magnificent silver lion's head on the lid. This must be what the Weapon Master had meant by 'uncalled-for creativity'. He hadn't asked for anything on the case, but damn it was beautiful. He traced it; the lion's head faded into a stylized cross at the neck. He'd have to get a necklace made like that; it suited him, and it complemented his ring. It would take the place of his ring when his finger finally fit the band. 

Carefully he opened the case; nestled on black velvet was his new weapon. Simple and basic, somewhat sleeker than the model in the weapons room. On the blade was his lion, as requested, but the lion had wings and the etching was done so that any light that shone on it made it seem to flame. It was better than beautiful; it was _magnificent_. A rare smile crept onto his features looking at it. 

"Holy shit, Squall," breathed Zell over his shoulder, almost right in his ear. "You know, that _almost_ makes me regret not getting a sword. How'd they get that design?" 

Squall scowled, the moment lost. "Back off," he snapped, so angrily that Zell obeyed in surprise. Squall reached into the case with one gloved hand and drew the weapon free, finding its sheath stored in a compartment underneath. _This_ gunblade was made to fit his hands, and was somewhat easier to wield. Still terribly clunky though. He sighed; the moment was indeed lost. The weapon had gone from an image of fantasy to a challenge to be overcome. He'd have to prove he could wield it now. 

As if on a cue, there was a pounding on their door. "Open up, Squall! I know you've got it now, it's time to put it to use!" 

Seifer. Oh well, he'd known this was coming. He slung his new gunblade over his shoulder, and answered the door. Seifer was standing against the opposite wall, his new gunblade in front of him like a cane. It was indeed longer of blade than Squall's, its blade tapering into a fine point. It looked like a fang, or a tongue of flame. 

"Say hello to the Hyperion," said Seifer, raising it. "You're going to be seeing a _lot_ of this beauty, at close range if you're not careful. What's yours called?" 

Squall blinked. He wasn't good at naming things. His ring had a name, but that was because it was special. Why name a weapon? Why glorify killing? Just because he would have to do it, didn't mean he should take any special joy in it. 

Yet...treacherously, a name occurred to him. A name inspired by that magnificent etching...but it didn't suit the _weapon_, just the _artwork_. He'd save the name - until he found something it suited, or he could modify the gunblade to earn it. _LionHeart_. 

For now, he looked down at the new weapon, and the only remarkable thing about it other than the etching was the chamber for the bullets. A revolver's chamber. Oh well. It would do. "...Revolver," he said at last. 

Seifer snickered. "Imaginative as always, Squall," he sneered. "Come on, it's time to test them out." 

Squall slung the Revolver over his shoulder again, and silently followed his new training partner down the hall, to the first of many, many practices... 


	4. First Blood

First Blood(14)

"Your assignment is to eliminate the entire group," said Instructor Meil. "Winhill doesn't have the long-term resources to resist the renegades in a drawn-out engagement, and has had to negotiate a barter contract with Garden for our services. You will be split into teams, and your results graded competitively. Only one 'A' will be awarded, then two 'B's, four 'C's, and so on. You get the idea. Good luck, cadets."

The class dissolved into chaos as the cadets formed themselves into teams. Seifer was, of course, the first to have a team of three formed; his posse never far from him, the three cadets looking like poster candidates in their black and silver uniforms.

Squall would have preferred to work alone, but rules were rules. Zell attached himself to Squall the moment he had the chance, but that still left one slot open. He groaned inwardly as he realized that Quistis would probably join them. It wasn't that he didn't like Quistis; he liked her no more or less than he did Zell, who was on average tolerable. What made Quistis joining them bad was that Quistis had just made SeeD - the youngest candidate ever to succeed, and she'd done it with flying colors on her first try. In general, SeeD were only used in cases where cadets failed in their duties - for Quistis to be in his group, his group would automatically be designated as backup; he could go the entire mission without a single fight.

Sure enough, four SeeDs were designated as backup for the mission; one team of three, and Quistis with the two cadets. Quistis would go in first, to see whether _properly led_ cadets could succeed. If even she failed, the all-SeeD team would take care of matters.

"I see you managed to get the cushiest job," sneered Seifer at the trio. "You better hope the others fuck up badly, brat, or your grade's gonna suck. Not that you could've gotten better than a 'B' in any case."

"Be quiet, Seifer," ordered Quistis. "You know the grades aren't determined by how many fights you get into. Squall has at least as good a chance to get that 'A' as you do."

Seifer's eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened - his posse immediately moving into flanking positions. "I don't know how you made SeeD," he said venomously, "when your judgment is so _incredibly_ lousy. We'll see who gets that 'A' when the day is over." Then they moved off; the Instructor was watching the two groups too closely.

* * * * * *

The ride down to Balamb was quiet...well, mostly quiet. Zell was punching and kicking his way through some kata, but Squall had gotten used to his roommate's innate hyperactivity over the past two years and knew better than to tell him to sit down. Zell always had to be moving _something_, and Squall preferred that he move his body rather than his mouth. It was easier to ignore.

He rested his hands on the butt of the Revolver, and his chin on his hands as the point of the gunblade dug into the vehicle's floor. This was the first mission his class had ever been on where the targets were human. All through the last year they'd been on 'monster patrol' just outside the Garden, and the year before that it had all been Training Center practice only. He'd heard it was different when it was a person. Different_ how_, though - no one seemed to have an answer for that.

"It'll be all right, Squall," said Quistis reassuringly.

Squall blinked; had he been so obviously worried, then? He picked at a loose silver thread on his worn cadet uniform, wondering what it would be like next year when he could prove he'd finished growing and could get permission to wear casual dress. He tended to wear older, more worn uniforms - the threads had smoothed and the uniform was less scratchy. As long as he still presented a properly sharp image, he wasn't reprimanded for it.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked Quistis quietly. "Do you know more about this mission than what we were told?"

Quistis smiled. "Of course I do," she said. "But that doesn't mean I'm allowed to tell you. You'll just have to trust me."

Squall turned away from her then; he didn't trust anyone, even Zell. He could rely on Quistis as a dependable comrade-in-arms, but she was asking for more than he would give.

Once in Balamb the entire class got on a SeeD transport vessel and crossed the narrow strip of ocean to Dollet. Squall and Zell stared wide-eyed; neither could remember ever being off Balamb island before, and Dollet was in its way a beautiful town. Quistis just grinned; she had never seen Squall with such an unguarded expression of wonder, and moved them along quickly so that Seifer wouldn't see them and ruin the moment. Each team would take its own rented car, just as they had in going from Garden to Balamb. As first backup Quistis' car led the way, with the three SeeDs in the last car.

Zell soon got bored with staring out the window and returned to his kata, leaving Quistis to drive and Squall to stare out the window. The unfamiliar scenery was breathtaking. What sort of people lived here? Did they, too, stare in wonder out their windows every morning? He looked up; there was a high plateau up there - what must it be like to live there, with all the world at your feet? Squall didn't remember ever being so far from Balamb before; away from the Garden, it almost felt like he could stretch out his hand and touch the horizon, free of orders and discipline.

Mentally he shook himself. What would he do, without orders or discipline? There was nothing else to give the day shape or purpose. He couldn't remember a time when he had _not_ risen a half-hour before dawn and gone through classes and practices until well past sundown. But...looking out at the high plateau and the rolling hills beneath it, a small treacherous part of him wondered - just briefly - what it might be like, just to get up when you felt like it, and live with such scenery all around...

He let his mind go blank, feeling an unusual contentedness suffuse him. Something about the high bluffs they were approaching was...right. It made him feel more comfortable than he had been in...well, a while, anyway.

It ended too soon, as such moments always do. The convoy of cars rolled to a stop with Winhill just visible in the distance. The groups of cadets assembled in front of Quistis.

"We're under orders not to enter Winhill itself," she said. "They've paid us to rout the renegades, but they don't want us to take their place, so we're forbidden to enter in anything less than a life-threatening situation. Now - about the renegades. These are defectors from the Galbadian army who've decided to play robber baron out here. They're armed with guns, and probably knives as well. You're to kill any of the renegades you come across, except the leader. He's wanted for questioning by the Galbadian government. We're not sure where the hideout is - probably somewhere in the bluffs. Find it, and eliminate the rogues; that's our mission. Dismissed."

Seifer, Fujin and Raijin immediately stood up and marched off, heading for the bluffs. After a few minutes, other teams also formed up and moved off in slightly different directions. Squall and Zell just waited.

"Awww, man," whined Zell. "Quistis, couldn't you have gone with Seifer's team? We're not gonna have _any_ fun, staying back here!"

Quistis just shook her head with a smile. "You've got a little too much faith in your classmates," she said. "We have two backup teams because we're almost sure there's going to be trouble. These renegades aren't the usual street trash, they're ex-army. They won't be found or eliminated easily."

Squall just listened, with his whole body. When the renegades were found, there would be gunfire. He wanted to know where it came from. When it did ring out, he was able to pinpoint the area of origin.

"Sounds like our cue," said Quistis. Sure enough, a few moments later a bright red flare shot up; call for backup. The three immediately set into motion, Quistis leading the way.

It wasn't anything like monster combat, when they arrived on the scene. It was a pitched battle; the number of renegades had been badly underestimated. Seifer and his posse were doing better than any of the other groups, slicing, dicing, and thumping away, but even they were wounded. Some teams had been completely annihilated. Quistis immediately sent up the green flare that called for the three other SeeDs to come into the fray. "Come on," she said. "We've got to do whatever we can. Get the wounded ones who can survive off to one side."

"We're _nursemaids_?" said Zell, amazed.

"Shut up," said Squall, and moved to assist Quistis in dragging a bloody cadet out of the way of the carnage. After another moment, Zell joined them.

When their foes saw what they were doing, they immediately moved to stop it; if the cadets survived it would be harder to cow Winhill's citizens into coughing up goods. A group of six moved to surround the trio, guns at the ready.

"Attack!" ordered Quistis, and snapped her whip around the barrel of the first gun, yanking it out of the man's hands. With the next crack of her whip, she took off his head.

Squall felt his mind go numb. He'd had practice sessions against other cadets, but that was just it - they were _practice_, and you didn't kill. He moved automatically, swinging the Revolver up in a diagonal cut that yanked a gun out of a foe's hands, then spun around in a downward slice that clove the man in two.

It was disturbingly easy, the heavy blade slicing through flesh and bone like butter. Blood splattered on his face and uniform, but there was no time to be sick - another foe was attacking, firing, pain blossomed in his shoulder as he charged...

It was timeless. Sweep, slice, cleave, charge, fire, dodge, cut. Pain bloomed in his thighs and once along his arm as his enemies shot at him, and somewhere in his head was a little boy crying his eyes out, but there was no time for any of that. This was what he had been training to do for as long as he could remember, and his body knew the movements to make. Faces dissolved in sprays of blood as he spun and slashed, the redness sheeting off his well-tended blade as he carved his way through man after man. More than one shot at him before he could strike them down - sometimes, he was able to use his gunblade as a temporary shield to deflect the bullet away from his body. More often, he could not - but he didn't let the pain stop him. There was an instinctive awareness that to fall was to die, and right here and right now he didn't feel like doing that. He just had to hope that the bullets he couldn't stop didn't hit anything vital.

It wasn't so bad, if you didn't think about it. There wasn't _time_ to think about it, anyway. There were screams and shouts of pain and rage all around him, gunfire and the crunch of bones breaking under Zell's punches and the snap of Quistis' whip nearby, but it was all muffled somehow. As the fight wore on, Squall felt like there was a wall of cotton forming between him and the rest of the world...something separated him from the battle, shielded him from it. More than one body exploded into shapeless gore as he pulled the Revolver's trigger halfway through a slice, the blasts of flesh and bone soaking through the black uniform. He understood, now, why the uniforms were black. It didn't show the blood as much, though the silver embroidery would never be the same.

Then it was over. There were no more enemies? He turned, and was surprised that his legs didn't hold him up. They twisted under him, and he landed heavily on one leg. He coughed and spat blood - was it his? There was blood everywhere; on the ground, on his uniform, dripping from his gunblade and smearing the proud lion etched there. Of the three of them, only Quistis looked relatively unharmed - but then, she was SeeD, and her whip had a longer range than either his gunblade or Zell's fists. When she saw him, she frowned.

"You all right?" she asked, and then noticed the gaping hole in the left shoulder of his uniform, the tattered gunshot holes in the thighs of his pants. "You idiot," she hissed. "How long ago? _Think_!" she snapped as she began casting Cure spells. Pain eased, and only with its easing did he realize how strong it had been. The feeling of being wrapped in cotton was stronger now. Almost, he could believe that if he took off his glove and touched Quistis, he still would not be able to feel her. With the cessation of pain, it was almost as if he could simply float away.

"I...don't remember," he mumbled, feeling a little dazed. He was too tired to flinch away as Quistis roughly grabbed his jaw in one hand so that she could look into his face with her own worried eyes. Then he realized with vague surprise that it didn't matter. Her touch only registered as pressure on his face - he could _not_ feel her, after all.

Shock, she noticed, looking in his eyes, and a lot of blood loss by his skin color under the gore. It was amazing he was even as upright as he was, though she wouldn't lay bets on his condition once the adrenaline wore off. But that wouldn't help, to say so. "It's different for all of us," she said instead. "You never forget what it's like, and you can't describe it to someone who's never done it. You'll be all right, Squall. Just give it time." Then she moved on, casting her healing spells on others of the wounded who could be saved. Those beyond the aid of magic she dispatched cleanly with her combat knife.

_Give it time_, he thought as he sat numbly on the field of battle, watching Quistis give mercy-strokes. _How many did I kill? That one, I suppose, and the one over there, I'm the only one with a bladed weapon...did I really go halfway through his neck? Easy, so easy...what were their names? Why were they here? So much blood. Can't even see the right color of the grass through all of it. How much of it is theirs? How much is mine? How can she walk so calmly to people she's known, and kill them like that? Why did I use the charges when I didn't need to?_

_I'm as bloodthirsty as she is, as Zell is. I used more force than I had to. I blew the soldiers apart because it was them or me and I didn't want it to be me...was it fear? Or am I really this...killer? When the time comes, will I be the one to give the mercy-stroke?_

_Or will I be the one to receive it?_

"You okay?" came a familiar voice, and he turned his head to see Zell kneeling down. "Quistis said you took a lot of shots. You don't remember, do you?"

It was easy to talk to Zell; the boy had learned to interpret any number of small grunts, gestures, and nods. He, too, was spattered liberally with blood - he looked like he was wearing form-fitting red silk gloves that went all the way to the shoulder, though there was plenty of blood elsewhere. Squall gave him a small shrug; he didn't know if there was any way to describe the events of the battle. Looking around, he wondered if anyone would ever want to. The ground was red even where it should be green, and in far too many places were unidentifiable bits of gore...or worse, mangled bodies of cadets he knew by face if not by name.

"Whoa, man, I _knew_ you were good," he grinned. "Even Seifer didn't get as many as you got, I bet, and he was here before us. C'mon, let's get back to Garden. We've done our job here."

_What an incredibly stupid thing to say,_ Squall thought. _As if the dead are tally-points in a contest. They lost, we won. That's all that matters. I don't think I could live with myself if I started counting bodies. Leave that for Seifer, and Zell if he wants to play that game._ Squall used his gunblade to lever himself up off the ground, feeling a bit guilty for using it like a cane but so damn tired it was either that or crawl. Zell noticed, oddly enough, and pulled Squall's left arm over his own shoulder, supporting him and letting him put the bloody gunblade away. _It will need to be cleaned later,_ Squall thought inconsequentially. Zell's cheerfulness seemed vaguely wrong in this setting. But then, Zell had always liked to fight. And Quistis had said it was different for everyone...so it probably wouldn't do any good to talk about it. Neither of his teammates seemed the least bit concerned; Zell looked eminently satisfied with the way things had turned out, and Quistis had a coolly businesslike approach - as though it were only a job, no hard feelings, and she wouldn't mind buying the men they'd killed a drink in the next life.

What could he say, anyway? _I killed them and it was so easy?_ It would sound like he wanted them to be harder to kill. Which he did, but not in the combat sense. It shouldn't be so easy to use a piece of sharpened metal to end a life. He'd blown up one or two as well, pulling the trigger on the Revolver as he sliced into his enemy's body, sending that charge right into the center where it would literally blow a man apart. It had been dreadfully easy, and now those lives were gone. Better them than him, of course, but there was wrongness in it. It seemed vaguely unfair that they should fight as well as they had and yet be dead.

He didn't notice the scenery on the trip back to Garden. He was too busy trying to sort out how he felt, knowing that for the rest of his life this _was_ his life - to kill. To kill strangers at the Garden's command. It wasn't as though he'd ever had much of a choice about it, though, so it was probably best just to get used to it. Unlike Zell, he had no family. Nowhere to go but Garden, nowhere that would take him in. Garden wouldn't accept squeamishness, and it _was_ a case of them or him. He looked at Zell, with his cheerfully bloodthirsty approach, and realized that he would probably never look at battle that way. Zell hadn't even noticed how many teams had been split up just to get all the rental cars back to Dollet. Nor did it seem to bother him that only a few of the fallen cadets' bodies had been retrieved - just those cadets with families. Far more space had been taken up with the weapons of the fallen cadets, and the weapons of the enemy, which would either be used by Garden or sold for profit.

Well, of course that wouldn't bother Zell. He had his mother in Balamb, after all. Squall knew that if _he_ fell, he would simply be left there for the birds to pick clean - and his gunblade would be taken back to Garden for another cadet to use someday. He fought down a sudden urge to laugh; it was one way out of Garden, anyway. He looked over at Quistis, who didn't seem to be any more affected than if they had gone out for a business meeting. She was sitting on towels, and had wiped her hands on another towel so as to not get blood on the seats or the steering wheel. The perfect SeeD, careful of any property she wasn't sent to destroy. Squall's seat, and Zell's, probably would need extensive cleaning.

If Quistis had a family, she'd never mentioned it. Perhaps that was why she fought so ferociously - knowing that she too, if she fell, would be left for the crows and monsters. But at the same time she took no especial joy in it - it was just a job, no different from any other job. Of the two choices, hers seemed the wiser model to follow. If he could pretend it didn't bother him hard enough...maybe after a while, it wouldn't. He could wrap himself in cotton and let the blood touch someone else.

He would do better, next time.


	5. Blood Party

blood_party Doctor Kadowaki walked sedately down the corridor, low heels clicking quietly against the stone. The lower levels radiated unpleasantness - stone construction giving the place the feel almost of an old style dungeon. 

Which, in a sense, it was. Here were the holding cells, where students who flagrantly disregarded the rules - and were still in one piece - were kept until Kadowaki judged them fit for release. 

There were no trials, in the Gardens. The Disciplinary Committee was judge and jury. Kadowaki took care of sentencing. 

She unlocked the door to one of the cells, took a seat on the bench. She knew this boy, just as she knew every other student in Garden - and she knew enough not to fear him. He would stay here until she verbally granted him permission to leave. It was his way of dealing with the world. Right now he was refusing to acknowledge her presence - curled up against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, forehead resting on the kneecaps. With his dark hair, gloves, and the black and silver cadet's uniform, he was almost invisible in the shadows. 

"Why did you do it, Squall?" she asked gently. "It isn't like you to beat another cadet so badly." 

No answer. For all the response the figure gave her, it might as well be a store dummy sitting there. 

"You'll stay here until you talk to me, you know," she commented. "It is Seifer's opinion that you be expelled. Jonathan will take weeks to recover, and you know what the rule is regarding severe injury to another cadet." 

To her mild surprise, Squall raised his head. Far from being resigned, there was cold fury in his eyes. "Good," he snapped. 

Kadowaki blinked. For Squall to be angry enough that it showed on his face, he might well be dangerous. Prudently, she moved to close the door. Those on the other side would hear nothing - the cells were soundproofed so that the wails of younger students locked up here alone wouldn't disturb others. The idea was to force a misbehaving cadet to truly think about their actions - isolated from the rest of the world, they would have no means to distract themselves from the reason for their presence here. She sat back down. "Tell me." 

Gray eyes narrowed, calculating but still quite furious. "No." 

The doctor considered that. Squall had unbreakable pride and legendary stubbornness. He probably _would_ be content to be expelled - or kept down here alone - rather than be forced to speak, and she knew he didn't really want either. Like many students he was an orphan; if he were expelled, at the age of fourteen, chances were high he'd end up a rent boy somewhere at best, or homeless and wandering at worst. And although Squall made a great show of being a lone wolf, Kadowaki knew him well enough to understand that if he really _were_ kept here in solitary confinement his mind would snap in the solitude - his own thoughts driving him crazy. 

Perhaps he had a reason not to want to speak? "Why?" she asked eventually - understanding that Squall preferred a direct approach. 

He evidently hadn't been expecting it from her, though - he blinked. "Off the record," he said at last. 

"You know I'm not supposed to -" 

"Then you can go on being curious," he snapped, and put his head down again. 

Doctor Kadowaki was taken aback. He'd been down here before, as had Seifer and just about every other cadet at some point - it being natural for children to push at the boundaries of their existence. But never before had he tried this - tried to set the rules of the encounter. Always, before, he had simply told his side of the story and accepted whatever punishment Kadowaki deemed appropriate without complaint. 

He was quite perceptive, though. She _was_ curious. He'd been alone down here for two days, and apparently it hadn't even taken the edge off his anger. If he saw Jonathan right now, she was quite sure Squall would go on trying to kill him. _No-one_, not even Seifer, had ever managed to so thoroughly enrage Squall. She could not ask him to trust her. She knew without trying that he would refuse - would accept expulsion rather than explain himself. The question was - did _she_ trust _him_? 

And the answer there could only be, 'yes'. She did. He was only fourteen, but he had never really been a child. If he wanted his version of events off the record, he probably had a good reason for it. He didn't know Cid kept an eye on him, didn't know that she could explain anything away to the Headmaster. She could do as he wanted and receive no especial condemnation for it. 

"All right," she decided. "I'll play it your way - off the record. But I want to know the _full_ story, do you understand? Or else I'll have no choice but to stand by the Disciplinary Committee's verdict." She pulled out her pocket recorder, switched it off - and to make sure he believed her, removed its battery pack and set it down in front of him. Trust came to Squall as easily as bicycling came to fish, and Kadowaki wanted to know the truth. 

At last, Squall uncurled from his defensive position - and, as she expected, double checked the recorder to make sure it didn't have a secondary power source and wasn't on. Then he motioned for her to stand up, gray eyes as flat and hard as the cold stone walls. He wished to search her. 

For a moment, the Doctor was tempted to refuse - after all, _he_ was the prisoner here, and she the jailer - but it didn't matter. She hadn't had any other recording devices on her, and if it convinced Squall she was playing fairly...she submitted. Slender, long-fingered hands in soft black gloves lightly patted her down, made sure she had nothing else hidden on her person. He did locate a tranquilizer gun, but he handed it back to her without comment. 

Kadowaki suppressed the urge to laugh. Here he was, a veritable prisoner - and when the means to his freedom was handed to him he simply handed it back. He wasn't interested in his freedom, it seemed. Only in what he had said - that his 'confession', as it were, remain off the official record. Perhaps he really _did_ want someone to know, after all. 

The idea that he would refuse to try to escape simply because in his mind there was nowhere to run to never occurred to her. 

Satisfied, he returned to his corner - as far away from Kadowaki, and the door, as possible. He curled up again, this time watching her carefully - his chin resting on arms crossed over his knees. His quicksilver stare was very cold, very direct, and she got the impression that he was judging her. After a while, he blinked. 

"You know about the Winhill mission," he stated, as though he expected that _of course_ she would know. 

He was right, too. "Yes," she agreed. "I saw the reports. A successful mission." 

"I was...wounded," he continued. "Took shots just about everywhere. Mostly in the left shoulder and the right leg, though. Gunblade got in the way of most of the rest." 

"That's fairly typical for a first fight," commented Kadowaki. 

Squall narrowed his eyes. "If you want to know, _shut up._" He paused, making sure the Doctor quite understood him. 

In fact she was biting back a smile. Oh, he'd make an incredible leader, this one would. If he could get through this incident, anyway. She nodded, completely unoffended. She'd dealt with Squall far too long not to trust him when he was being serious. 

"I lost a lot of blood, Quistis told me," he continued after a while, his voice coolly impersonal - as though he were relating events of long ago, that happened to someone else. "She cast a lot of cures on me after the battle, Zell got me to the rental car. I don't remember a whole lot of the trip back. Zell told me I passed out. When we reached Dollet, Quistis bought a lot of cures and practically poured them down my throat. I suppose they helped - at least, I didn't feel lightheaded any more. But I did feel...not there." He paused, thinking. "Like being wrapped in cotton, or sitting in a glass cage. The world went where it wanted to but I wasn't a part of it." 

_Shock_, thought Kadowaki. _And blood loss. Disassociation. Damn - I knew I should've checked over all the cadets the minute they got back!_ But she said nothing. If she spoke, it was quite possible Squall would not continue - and she needed to know what had happened to get him sent down here. Cid's heart would break if he were forced to expel Squall for this. 

"When we got back to Balamb, Zell got word of a 'blood party'. You know about those?" 

Kadowaki blinked. "I've heard of them," she said flatly. "Usually the next morning when some cadet is in a coma from the drugs." Blood parties were wild, chaotic events held by upperclassmen for the newly blooded juniors, the ones who had just survived their first real battle. The administration never knew about them until afterward - the oldest cadets were adept at using their educations to ring the parties in walls of magical silence, and making sure only a trusted few knew about them far enough in advance to stop them. Young, freshly blooded boys were dropped in a wild social situation filled with any drugs the upperclassmen could get their hands on, with no supervision. More than one boy who had survived his first battle did not survive the blood party afterward. 

Squall nodded. "Zell heard the word 'party' and got the idea fixed in his head that this would be a good thing for me. I wasn't up to arguing with him, so we went." 

Kadowaki kept her face in its 'doctor's mask'. Squall's voice betrayed uncertainty - eagle-eye hindsight dissecting the decision to attend, seeing if there had been enough evidence at the time to dissuade him. She noted that he was no longer looking at her - instead he was staring fixedly at some random spot in the air between them, eyes unfocused. 

"There was something loud and blaring on the radio - punk, I suppose, as it was a little familiar. Zell likes to listen to punk in the mornings. There were trays of pills...I left them alone, I felt strange enough already. I picked up a can of beer - I don't know why - and tried to find some out-of-the-way spot where I could wait until Zell had had his fill of fun and I could go to bed. He did what he usually does - got right in the middle of the mob. I didn't see him after that." 

The impersonal nature of Squall's recital was fading, the Doctor noted. The closer he got to whatever had set all this in motion, the more emotion crept into his voice. Right now he was sounding puzzled, and a little dreamy. 

"I sipped at the beer, but I kept feeling more and more distant. Like I was looking at everything from an adjoining room, hearing everything through a wall. I didn't feel anything at all. Somebody took my arm..." 

Squall shook his head then, as if chastising his own stupidity. "I think anyone at all could have taken my arm just then and I'd have followed them around like a puppy." He sounded bitter, and a little angry. "I swear I don't remember a damn thing after that. Someone took my arm, I think we left the party - and that's all I remember." 

But if that were truly the case he would not have asked for this recital to be off the record, Kadowaki knew. So it was not the end of the story. She waited, watching him. That cold, killing fury was back in his eyes now - and creeping into his voice, too, though he tried to keep it steady. 

"The next morning...I was in my bed. Someone's arms were around me - I thought maybe for a minute -" he stopped himself, began again. "Somebody's arms were around me - someone I didn't know. Some _guy_ I didn't know. And I was...sore." He noted Kadowaki's questioning expression, snapped that stone-cold glare on her. "Just...sore, Doctor. In _my_ room. In _my_ bed, and Zell could walk in any time. I suppose I should be grateful he found a girl that night and stayed in her room." 

"And that is why you almost killed him?" asked Kadowaki. "Because of what you suspect happened? I suppose I should tell you Jonathan's report is that you invited him back to your room, and that subsequent events were entirely consensual." 

That quicksilver gaze could turn a basilisk to stone. "I remember no such thing, Doctor. What I told you is what I know." 

_And the rest of what you know you won't tell me, is that it?_ thought the Doctor. _I think I understand now._ "We're off the record," she reminded him, "so - if you please - satisfy my curiosity. You didn't attack Jonathan just because you didn't agree to sleep with him, did you?" 

"If you're asking did I beat him because I found out I'd had sex with a guy, no," said Squall flatly, but that edge of anger was present. "I beat the shit out of him because I didn't fucking agree to it, and the bastard knew I was too far out of it to fight at the time." 

"That was not what I asked," said Kadowaki firmly. "I asked if that was your only reason. Was it?" 

Squall seemed to deflate then, and sadness was in his eyes as he quietly admitted, "....no." 

Only one word, but it made things much clearer to the experienced Doctor. "You know Zell is straight, don't you?" she asked sympathetically. 

Sadness abruptly disappeared behind the Wall, and a coolly impervious expression dominated Squall's face now. "Yes, Doctor, I am aware of that. We are not here to discuss my roommate." 

Kadowaki stood up, and nodded. "Quite right, Squall. We are not. Well, you've been down here two days already - I consider that punishment enough for the time being. However, I suggest that you seek out the remaining gays at Garden and come to an arrangement with them so that this does not occur again. Your actions have caused quite a stir in their little community, and I don't want to see further trouble if they decide to take vengeance on Jonathan's behalf. Jonathan...well, we'll see. I doubt he'll want to come anywhere near you again, but it's going to be up to you to diffuse the situation. I'll do what I can to pry a few more facts out of him. In the meantime you are to avoid him completely." 

She opened the door. "You are released to your quarters, Squall," she said. "I'll take care of things with the Headmaster." 

Squall uncurled from his corner and strode out of the cell without a backward glance. Kadowaki retrieved the pieces of her recorder and sighed. Of the two cadets, she was far more inclined to believe Squall than Jonathan; though both might have been telling the truth, Jonathan was known to tell lies of convenience on occasion. Squall really did deserve _some_ punishment for injuring his partner the way he had, but given his utter ineptitude in social situations Kadowaki felt that ordering him to deal with every other gay man in Garden personally probably covered the bill. And it would prevent repetitions. 

Such a complex little boy. He hadn't beaten Jonathan for being taken advantage of - though ordinarily that would be cause enough. He'd beaten Jonathan because - by doing so in Squall's own room - there had been the risk Zell would find out that Squall's cover wasn't entirely a fabrication. That Squall really could be attracted to men as well as women. And if Zell found _that_ out, the relationship he shared with his roommate would be forever altered. 

Possibly for the better, Kadowaki knew. Zell was straight but he was honest, and after he'd been given time to adjust would probably worship Squall as much as he ever had. But Squall was not the sort to ever take that risk, not willingly. Unable ever to win love, he had no desire to risk the worship that was all he ever might achieve. Kadowaki wondered if Squall really understood the object of his affection. Probably not - understanding other people's motives was always Squall's weakest suit. 

She stuffed the pieces of the recorder in her pocket, and followed the slightly built cadet out of the lower levels, trying to think of a way to settle this. There wasn't anything she could really do about Squall's outburst, she knew. It hadn't been prompted by outrage, but by fear - and Squall never ran from things he feared. No, he charged right in and tried to control them. 

Who was right? Jonathan's version of events had Squall doing the inviting, and everything above board. Kadowaki wished Squall hadn't gotten quite so enraged - they'd had to _pull_ him off of Jonathan, and it had taken several cadets to haul him down to the cells. If he hadn't been so obviously wide awake, she could have taken a blood sample for drugs. Now she would never know for sure what had caused Squall's blackout - the lone drink he had nursed could well have caused the distancing effect and the blackout he'd described, given the wounds he'd had earlier in the day and Squall's low alcohol tolerance. At the same time, Jonathan noticing Squall's preoccupation so quickly and drawing him away from the party indicated the possibility that the older cadet had helped things along. It was not unusual in the least for cadets at a blood party to have events similar to Squall's. The older cadets tended to regard it as fair payback for the effort of throwing the party in the first place. 

She made it back to the Infirmary and locked the door of her private office, where she could give vent to her frustration. _Damn_ those stupid parties! Squall was not the only cadet to have come out of that in worse condition than he went in. Two cadets were dead of drug overdoses - probably due to blood loss, vulnerable in the same way Squall himself had been. And no way to shut them down - SeeD cadets were remarkably ingenious at keeping them out of sight of the authorities until too late. And what could she tell the Headmaster? Squall had insisted his report be kept off the record - no doubt so that Zell wouldn't get word of it.   
  
Well. That left one other cadet to talk to. Now that she had a clearer idea of events, she could probably get to the bottom of this...and _his_ report wouldn't be off the record at all. 

* * * * * * * * *

Squall wended his way back to the dorms, thinking. 

He hadn't understood it himself until Kadowaki asked him the question - _You didn't attack Jonathan just because you didn't agree to sleep with him, did you?_ - but now he did. He'd never been so angry in his life as he had when he'd realized that the arm around his body had belonged to no one he knew. So long - he'd made it to fourteen without winding up in someone's bed, which was practically a record in Garden - and to have lost something precious without remembering how or why or if he'd really done the inviting after all... 

Abruptly he realized he didn't care about that at all. Zell wouldn't hear about it - not all of it, he was sure of that - so he wouldn't have to deal with his roommate freaking out...and that was really all that mattered. Jonathan might have gotten his pretty fuck for a night, but he'd be looking at the Infirmary ceiling and getting his lunch through an IV for at least a month yet. He wouldn't try it again - and he'd probably spread the word so no one else tried it again either. Squall was already good enough in combat that most cadets didn't want to take him on, even in groups. It wasn't so much Squall's skill, which still needed work, but the fact that he didn't, ever, give up. To fall was to die, and Squall hung onto life with a fierce, unbreakable tenacity. Even if he were overpowered and rendered unconscious - the only way to defeat him - when he woke up the fight would continue. In the end it just wasn't worth it. There were easier targets elsewhere. 

He was almost there now, bootsteps eerily silent along the tiles, old habits dying hard. Seifer liked to ambush him in the training center, stepping silently allowed him to turn the tables. 

But his steps were not all that was silent. There was nothing in him now. Not rage, not fury, not anger, not confusion, not hurt. They were down there, down in the cells, with the words of the confession no one else would ever hear. It wasn't even being wrapped in cotton, as he'd been after the battle. He wasn't...alive. He could think about recent events but not care about them. They had happened to someone else, a long time ago, and didn't really matter. He glanced at his black-gloved hand as he reached for his door, vaguely surprised that he couldn't see through it. The door registered against gloved fingers as soft pressure, almost as though - were he so inclined - he could walk through it. 

There was nothing in him at all. 

"Hey, Squall, where ya been?" chirped Zell as he walked in. Zell was studying, it seemed, in his favorite position - flat on his back with his legs stretched up the wall, head tilted back over the side of the bed so that his hair was apparently obeying gravity for a change as he held a book to his face. Occasionally he'd reach overhead and pull a nacho out of a nearby bag. "Ya haven't been home for _days_, baby!" 

Mental blocks processed the sentence with the habitual rider "he has no idea how he sounds", but Squall found he no longer needed them. "In the cells," he said, almost in a monotone. 

"Got into a fight at the blood party?" asked the blond. "Bet the other guy looks worse than you do. Next time stay away from the red pills, yeah?" 

Squall gathered up a robe and his shower kit. Two days without a shower was quite long enough. "I'm not going to another one of your 'parties', Zell," he said flatly. "I don't do well at them, and don't enjoy them. You go, if it makes you happy." 

He examined the kit meticulously, making sure he had all he needed to get really _thoroughly_ clean. Perhaps, if he turned the hot water on full, he would be able to feel it? Did he _want_ to feel? 

It was worth a try, perhaps. 

The door clicked softly as it closed, and Zell went back to his studying. 


	6. Fighting Dirty

Alone in his room, Squall drew out the platinum ring he kept on a sturdy chain around his neck. He didn't know how long he'd had it, but it was the only thing he'd ever had that he knew without question was _his_. It was the only possession he had that he would fight to keep.

Of course, he'd gotten into many fights lately. Since Zell had become his permanent roommate, there'd been at least two fights a week, with Seifer and his little posse. More since the first mission against human targets, about a year ago. Zell had stoutly maintained that Squall had killed more of the renegades than Seifer, despite the fact that he had had his own hands full at the time and Squall himself was unsure how many had died at his hands. It enraged Seifer no end, and now it was almost a fight every time the two of them were in the same room. They were both in Instructor Trepe's classes now, because she was the only Instructor who had managed to keep them from fighting during her classes.

Squall was tired of it. Right down to the bone, tired of it. What was the point?

He weighed the ring in his hand, feeling its unusual heft. His survival, that was the point, wasn't it? He fought, he survived, he grew stronger so as to survive the next fight. There was some reason he had to survive, wasn't there? There was some _point_ to this, locked away in his mind, forgotten from disuse?

He shoved the dark thoughts aside, at least for the moment. He knew one of the reasons for his dark mood was simply that it was his birthday - his fifteenth. Birthdays always depressed him - not least because he couldn't afford to tell anyone. Zell would make his life hell with some form of blisteringly embarrassing festivity, and Seifer...well, Seifer would just make his life hell. Somewhere he knew that birthdays weren't meant to be celebrated alone - but unlike other holidays, he didn't really have the option of sharing them with anyone.

He had his own private ritual. On his birthday, he tried to wear his ring. One of the things that he _knew_, without really knowing _how_ he knew, was that when he could wear the ring he would be done growing. There would be a little freedom then - for he would no longer be required to wear a cadet's uniform every single day. He could choose to wear something else, unless he were on a mission that required cadets to be identifiable as such, or it was a formal occasion. It was the only thing he had to look forward to, other than one day becoming a SeeD and having a room of his own.

He pulled off his left glove - an idiosyncrasy he'd picked up many years before - and slid the ring onto his finger.

It fit. The magnificent lion roared from his finger, fierce pride and indomitable strength radiating from its carven lines. He closed his hand, feeling the unfamiliar weight and adjusting to it. Griever was truly his now. He almost regretted the necessity of covering it with the glove again.

He stood up then, and eyed himself critically in the mirror. Fifteen was not the best age for a boy to be done growing, and Squall wasn't the tallest boy to start with. Still, at five foot eight he was still taller than Zell, and marginally taller than most of the female cadets, so it wasn't all bad.

Freedom - to wear his own clothes. He couldn't remember ever wearing anything other than the black embroidered with silver that all cadets wore, a plain white shirt beneath the jacket. He'd differed slightly from the regulations with his gloves and his necklace - carefully hidden within the cadet jacket and under his shirt - but still. With all the fashions out there, and a lifetime of complete regulation and regimentation behind him, it was a daunting prospect.

Zell burst into the room then, in his now-customary outfit of blue baggy shorts and a red-and-black jacket. Squall still found it outlandish, along with his new blackflame tattoo. Whatever he chose, it wouldn't be that, certainly.

"Hey man, whatcha mopin' around here for?" he said with his usual devilish grin. "It's a _fine_ day out, or so I hear - wanna head down to Balamb? I bet Ma will be thrilled for the visit."

Squall shrugged. Zell had more or less 'adopted' Squall as family after the first Solstice as his roommate - he'd been floored that Squall was quite prepared to spend the most festive time of the year studying alone in his room. Zell now made a practice of periodically hauling Squall out of Garden to visit his Ma, never realizing that all he did was heighten Squall's sense of aloneness. But today he didn't argue - the ring fit, so if he bought clothes today, he would be able to wear them for a long time. He was going down to Balamb anyway - and if he went with Zell, at least he wouldn't have to pay for dinner on top of his new wardrobe. He nodded his consent.

Zell punched the air with his usual enthusiasm, and said, "Hot damn! Let's get goin', man. I haven't seen Ma in _months_ and there's just so much to tell her, you know?"

"Most of our missions have been classified," Squall said shortly as they headed out. "What were you planning on telling her?"

"Nothin' top secret," grinned Zell. "Just that I'm doin' well, kickin' ass, you know - the sort of stuff that mothers like to hear."

Squall paced ahead, irritated. "No, I wouldn't," he said. When would Zell get it through his head that _his_ mother wasn't _Squall's_ mother?

Zell immediately looked contrite; he hadn't meant to remind Squall of his family-less state. "Hey man, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it like that."

Squall slowed, so that Zell could catch up without running. No, of course Zell hadn't meant it like that. He never did, but his mouth often ran several hundred feet ahead of his brain. It was one of those things about him that irritated Squall no end. Zell never _thought_ - he only _did_, and regretted at leisure. Or at least as long as it stayed in his short-term memory, which tended to be about fifteen minutes.

"Hey, you wanna crash with Ma all weekend?" Zell asked anxiously, in what Squall had come to mentally label 'puppy mode' - as in, a puppy who has offended and is anxious to please. "We could hang around town, catch some shows maybe, meet some girls..."

"Why?" was the first thing out of Squall's mouth. He had no interest in any of that and Zell knew it. But at the clouded look on Zell's features he realized it was either agree or have Zell doing an embarrassing puppy imitation all weekend. He held up his hand, and said, "All right, all right, I'll go - but if you drag me to any of your 'shows' or on anything resembling your idea of a date, I'll leave you for Seifer, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" said Zell with an overdone salute made comic by his wide grin. Not for the first time, Squall wondered what he had done to get on Zell's good side. No matter how irritated he became with Zell, the other boy never seemed inclined to take the hint and move on. It was puzzling, but at times useful. Zell at least knew where the clothing shops were; he must, to dress the way he did.

"...I'm thinking of going shopping," he admitted slowly. There was no telling what Zell would make of it.

"Hey, really?" said Zell. "Always girls at the shops, you know. What kinda shopping?"

Nothing else for it. "Clothes," he admitted. "Something besides this uniform."

Zell's eyes went wide. "Wow," he breathed. "I have _got_ to see this. You in anything besides cadet black...I didn't think I'd see the day." Noting Squall's increasingly annoyed expression, he immediately put on a serious face and said, "I'll do whatever you want, honest, and no teasing. Just let me come along, okay? I'll be a big help."

Squall suppressed a sigh. He did need Zell's help to find the shops - previous excursions to Balamb had been limited to holiday visits at the Dinchts'. He was half tempted to just throw the whole idea and stick with the cadet uniform until he made SeeD - but then his pride rebelled. He _wasn't_ like anyone else. Even the desire to blend in took second place to that knowledge. Besides - if he stayed in cadet togs all the time much longer, he'd stand out just as much for that as for any outfit he chose to don. Most cadets went casual as soon as they could, and the few like Zell who could afford a new outfit every time they outgrew the old one had extensive wardrobes.

"All right..." he said, though he had a strong feeling he'd grow to regret it.

"WoooHooo!" cried Zell, and launched into backflips down the hall. Squall just shook his head. No more 'anxious puppy', now it was hyper Business as Usual. Sometimes it was hard to say which was worse.

* * * * * * * *

The weather to Balamb was only fine for the first half of the trip. The town was close enough that a cadet could walk along the road from Garden and reach Balamb by sundown - which was what the boys had intended to do. But as they neared the coast, a ferocious storm blew in from the sea - slowing them considerably.

Zell, had he been alone, probably would have taken to his heels and _run_ back to Garden - which was marginally closer. But Squall...Zell had never seen Squall in quite this mood before. He acted as though the storm wasn't even there - no, that wasn't right. He acted like the storm had blown the top off of whatever box inside of him held all his rage. And it was scaring the living daylights out of Zell.

They hadn't followed the road, preferring to rough it and cut the distance. Bite bugs weren't exactly a challenge for either of them. Squall handled every swarm by leaping right into the middle of it, swinging his gunblade left and right in wide arcs, rage on his face but _completely silent_. Zell did his share of swatting too, but they were only bite bugs - not even as difficult as the Grats in the Training Center. The only thing that made the fight a challenge was the slippery footing caused by the rain.

He made a mental note to stay the hell away from Squall when the weatherman predicted heavy rain. He had done his best to be Squall's friend, as Kadowaki asked - and he had in truth gotten to like his moody roommate, and trusted him more than any other cadet of his acquaintance. But he knew there was a wall inside his friend - a wall that Zell was not permitted to go past. A wall that _no one_ was permitted to pass.

He'd always wondered what was on the other side of that wall. Right now, it seemed that the answer was an inferno - or a storm.

There were no other incidents on the road, for which Zell was intensely grateful. The rain didn't let up, but Squall didn't seem to notice it. He didn't even seem to notice his bangs being pressed into his face by the falling water. Zell took care to walk on Squall's left side - his off hand, so that if in this fey mood he chose to turn his gunblade on his friend, he'd have to twist his body to do it. Hopefully giving Zell time to duck.

* * * * * * * *

Squall welcomed the storm and the rain it carried. It pulled the bleakness from his thoughts, let him _care_ for a moment whether he lived or died. Bite bugs weren't a challenge, of course. But he'd _felt_ the thrill of fear at the possibility of defeat, and _felt_ honest rage at the idea of mere bite bugs taking him down.

It was happening more and more often lately, that he didn't feel anything at all. Not rage, not pain, not fear...nothing. Even fighting off Seifer wasn't always enough to make him feel, unless Seifer was in uncommonly good form, or they fought outside of Garden where it wasn't supervised - where Seifer really could kill him. The monotony of the fights wore him down, and yet he was growing to need them - growing to need Seifer's skill, growing to need the knowledge that here was a foe who could truly take him down.

He wasn't naturally talented with weapons, but he had grown steadily in skill. He never, ever, took a step back. With every fight, every single one, he grew better. Seifer was one of a very few left who could challenge him. And of those few, only Seifer seemed to really want to make the fight _real_ - not mere practice. Most of Squall's injuries over the years had come from his fights with Seifer - and vice versa.

A few weeks ago Seifer had broken Squall's sword arm, and had gotten the surprise of his life when Squall kept on fighting as though nothing had happened - though both of them had heard the sound of the break. Squall had won the fight because of that - but as he'd walked to the Infirmary to have it treated, he had felt...not right. Intellectually he _knew_ he should be practically howling from pain, but although he did feel pain it was muted, easily bearable. He knew too, that that should worry him, but it hadn't. He hadn't felt a damn thing.

He needed the storm. The feel of cold raindrops against his skin proved that he _could_ still feel, even if it was only feeling cold. If he feared anything, it was that emptiness.

The darkness was heavy, sundown coming earlier with the storm all around. But the boys knew their way - and better now, with the lights of Balamb town just visible to the west. Zell picked up the pace, and Squall automatically set his own pace to match. Within another hour they had reached Balamb. Zell broke into a run, and Squall chose to match it. Not out of any desire to race, or to get out of the rain - which appeared to be Zell's primary motivation - but simply because there wasn't anything else to do.

They didn't present a poster-worthy image of the Garden Cadets when Zell knocked on the door of his home. Both boys were soaked through from the storm, and their hair was plastered straight back against their heads. Ma Dincht didn't even waste time on hellos, but practically dragged both of them into the parlor.

"Here, you boys take off your wet things, and I'll go get some towels," she said as she bustled up the stairs. Zell pulled off his black and red jacket and his socks and sneakers, leaving them in a dripping pile by the door. Squall followed suit, feeling vaguely embarrassed - and realized that the emptiness had already returned. He should have expected that, he supposed. He always felt very much the outsider at Zell's house, no matter how welcome they tried to make him.

Ma Dincht returned with an armful of oversized fluffy towels in a variety of colors, and Zell immediately pounced on them, tossing one to Squall. It wasn't enough to dry him, but it was enough to stop him from dripping on Ma Dincht's floor. When she judged them dry enough, she shooed Zell upstairs as she offered Squall a seat in her kitchen.

"So, you boys will be staying all weekend?" she asked cheerfully. "You don't eat enough, Squall. But no worry - my cooking will restore your appetite after that awful stuff they serve at the Garden. No wonder my Zell has fallen in love with hot dogs - how can you tell if a hot dog is badly made?"

Squall nodded to answer her question, but said nothing. He felt only a keen sensation of being out of place in this domestic setting, and couldn't decide whether that was better or worse than feeling empty. He was hoping Zell would get changed quickly; Ma Dincht focused exclusively on Zell when he was available for her to do so.

Ma Dincht looked him right in the face, wearing a critical expression. "You look a little peaked," she said. "Probably the cold walk getting here. Hang on, I'll get you some hot tea."

At least she hadn't tried to touch. But Ma Dincht had already learned that Zell's 'quiet friend' was far too shy to understand touching. And while she was hunting down tea bags, honey, and all the other things required for a good cup, Zell returned - hair dried and combed straight back Seifer-style for the evening, and casually dressed in an old tank top and sweat pants.

With Zell in the room, Squall no longer felt out of place. Now he was invisible, as he should be with Zell and his mother chatting happily away. No one was paying any attention to him, and he felt the sense of displacement give way to emptiness as he sipped at the hot tea. He listened with half an ear to their conversation, more or less lost within his own thoughts once more. The storm still raged outside - there was a vague temptation to go back out into it, to see if the cold rain could make him _feel_...but unfortunately there was the certainty that Zell would follow him. Explaining...was probably impossible. So it was best just to wait.

In the end his hosts decided that he would bed down in Zell's room on a pile of cushions. Squall would have just preferred the floor; he found uniformity of surface more conducive to sleep than softness. But he let them pile up their mound of cushions; the Dinchts liked to be helpful and would have felt themselves to be poor hosts if their guest just slept on the floor. He got ready for bed once Ma Dincht had gone downstairs, stripping off his clammy wet uniform and changing into a dry T-shirt and boxers, and lying on his lumpy cushions staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.

He didn't even try to sleep. This wasn't his first visit here by a long shot, and he knew the routine. Sure enough, just when he _would_ have been drifting off had he not known better, Zell started asking questions.

"Hey, Squall," came the traditional opener. "What sorta stuff you looking to buy?"

Interesting; a pertinent question. "Clothes," he said shortly. Pertinent or not, if he wasn't going to be allowed to try to feel, he'd rather sleep than chat.

"What, like mine? What kinda clothes?"

"Not like yours," said Squall. He didn't really know what he wanted, but he knew without question that Zell's style wasn't it. Thinking of that, though... "You still remember that metalworking class you took last year?"

"Yeah," said Zell. "Why? You want me to make you something? I can probably do that, if we can get the materials. I wouldn't even charge ya for the labor."

Squall hesitated. He would have to get it made, but having to ask Zell made him nervous. Unfortunately he lacked any sort of artistic talent, so it was either Zell or a paid jeweler. When he'd gotten his ring appraised, he'd decided that he wouldn't deal with jewelers unless he had to. The man who had appraised his ring had very nearly managed to _keep_ it - Squall had had to move his gunblade very pointedly before the man would give it back. He'd tried to tell Squall he thought the ring must be stolen; no mere kid would ever have possession of such a valuable platinum ring - worth over ten thousand gil. No - he'd have to ask Zell. He _hated_ owing Zell favors.

"Can you make a pendant like the design on my gunblade case?"

Zell chuckled to himself. "Oh, yeah. I used that as a design in the classes anyway, seeing as it was standing right there. Real pretty. Pendant? Yeah, no problem. What d'you want it made out of?"

"...I don't know. Something silvery, but maybe not silver. I'll just have to see what I can afford."

"Well, I'll do it," said Zell with a yawn. "Good design."

A few moments later, Zell's breathing went rhythmic - telling Squall that there would be no more questions tonight. He was mildly pleased to have redirected Zell's thoughts so easily. He had no idea what sort of clothes he wanted, but he didn't want to explain that to Zell. It would just be more bother than it was worth to try.

He listened to the rain against the window, mourning his inability to feel it until he felt the darkness within him claim his thoughts.

* * * * * * * *

Squall squinted at the early morning sunlight pouring through the window of Zell's room. How the guy managed to sleep through such brightness was just unfathomable, but having the dawn wake him was worlds better than Zell's idea of a wakeup call. Here, it was the sound of Zell pounding away on his punching bag in the corner. No - blinding as it was, the sun was without question the better option. He grabbed his travel bag and headed for the shower, moving as quietly as he could.

When he returned to Zell's room, dressed and ready to go, Zell was up and scooping huge handfuls of cushions into a corner. Away from Garden, his habitual state appeared to be Chaos.

"Figured that's where you'd be," he grinned. "G'wan downstairs, I bet Ma heard the shower and already has breakfast ready. We'll be out of here toot sweet and you can get your shopping done."

Squall bit back a sigh - he wasn't hungry this early in the day. But he knew the rules of the house by now, and all arguing would net him would be hurt looks from the Dinchts and he'd _still_ have to eat breakfast. The Dincht household had rules as strict as those of Garden sometimes.

Breakfast was at least a quiet meal, Squall reflected as they finally got underway. People were too busy sorting out their dreams or their schedules to say much - even Ma Dincht. All Squall really had to do was look like the sort of person who you Do Not Disturb Before Coffee, and he was left in respectful peace.

The peace was worth drinking a cup of coffee - a beverage he normally loathed. The first thing he paid for once they were out of the house was a bottle of water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Zell knew it was a trick, but didn't say anything. He'd never found a way to properly explain the Manual of Squall to his mother, and he figured if Squall was willing to drink what he usually termed as 'sewage' for the sake of a quiet breakfast, that was his affair.

* * * * * * * *

The Balamb Mall was a revelation. Zell had trouble not grinning at the wide-eyed look on Squall's face as he realized that Fashion was a full-time occupation for some people. Mostly women, true - but there were almost as many stores geared at men as there were at women, and the sheer variety available was beyond the comprehension of a boy who'd spent all of his life in a uniform.

"So, where ya wanna start?" asked Zell casually. It was all the same to him; there was a good chance that no matter where they went, there would be girls around. And his curiosity as to just what his reserved roommate might choose was getting the better of him.

Finally forced to confront the fact that he had _no_ idea what he wanted, Squall just shrugged and pointed at the nearest store. "There, I suppose."

The first store turned out to be a leather shop. Pants, shoes, boots, gloves, everything. Zell was strongly tempted to hint that just maybe it would be a good idea not to try this stuff, but too many fascinating images played across his mental cinema. Squall in leather? Given his distaste for the company of other cadets, there were _endless_ opportunities...

Squall, for his part, completely ignored Zell now that he knew where the shops were. Although shopping was his reason for being in Balamb, he had no desire to hang around longer than he had to; the idea of spending his afternoon watching his roommate pant after everything in a skirt was just too annoying. It sparked an idea.

"Zell - why don't I meet you at the mall entrance later on?" he said. "You can go...do whatever it is you wanted to do."

Zell understood the dismissal, though he was a bit disappointed that he wouldn't get to see the results for hours yet. "Yeah, sure," he said, trying not to let it show. "There's a vendor in the food court does great Balamb hot dogs. I'll meetcha there at six, okay?"

"Sounds good," said Squall absently, and returned his attention to the racks. Leather...held possibilities. Not tight shiny leather, though. Too confining, plus the creaking sound the salespeople were making as they walked around would be a dead giveaway in the training center.

He found what he was looking for farther back, away from the display cases. Soft, black leather pants that weren't too tight, didn't make a sound and didn't reflect light. Suede, most likely, or a leather from an unusual monster. Whatever, it suited perfectly.

Trying them out, he amended that to _almost_ perfectly. The tightness around his hips didn't impede movement, but it could easily make for awkward moments - and stares. Hyne, he hated the female cadets. He had no idea how women in the towns were treated, but the women of Garden typically were randier - and rowdier - than the men. Squall was blessed (or cursed) with sharp, delicate, fine boned features and the sort of thick, fine hair many women would kill for. He was beautiful in the way only men _could_ be beautiful, and thanks to the female cadets he knew it.

And hated it. So many of the men of Garden spent all their time trying to get into a girl's bed that most of the women of Garden had but to beckon to the man of their choice. They didn't understand Squall's refusals, and it only made them try harder. A fifteen year old boy who wasn't interested in sex? It was unheard of. He must have a girl hidden in his bunk or something.

Squall had no desire to form any attachment that would not hold. He didn't want to reach out to someone who wouldn't even be there in the morning when he woke up. He knew that he was virtually alone in that viewpoint, too, so he didn't bother explaining it.

Perhaps now, he wouldn't have to. Leather...a small, sly smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Beautiful, was he? Well then.

He'd want something to block the view though. Scanning the various racks, he came across a selection of wide belts. Yes, this would do. A couple of these, and the first thing those cadets would see would be belts and nothing else. He might even be able to make them useful, perhaps store a few gunblade charges in them. He picked a few that looked about the right size for what he wanted and slung them over his arm with the pants.

Jacket. Of all the accouterments he really wanted to change, the itchy embroidered cadet jacket was at the top of the list. Since most people who wore leather went for jackets or coats, the store had a wide selection. Squall would have stared openmouthed, but a flash of color in the black and brown store caught his eye. He crossed over to where he'd seen it, to get a better look.

Fur. Hyne, it was beautiful - thick, white fur from a Trabian snow lion, all around the collar. Almost, he grinned; yesterday the ring, and Zell would make him the pendant - and now a white lion's mane around his throat. He tried it on; crop jacket, stopping at his ribcage. The fur ruffled with his hair; yes, this would do very well.

He took his prizes back into the changing rooms to test them out. It took a while to get the hang of the unfamiliar fittings, and adjust to the feel, but at the end of it he had what he needed.

He knew beauty when he saw it, the same as anyone else with eyes. But _this_ look - this look said 'don't touch me' in a loud message to those female cadets. Of course, it also said 'give me a call' to the few gay men in Garden, but at least the men had been more discreet, and already understood that he wasn't interested. It was worth the trade-off. Besides which, it would give Seifer a heart attack. Seifer had a streak of homophobia in him, and once he got an eyeful of his favorite sparring partner in this getup, said partner would probably get a much needed break. Seifer wouldn't want anyone to 'get the wrong idea', especially since the two of them had been 'disappearing' out of Garden's eye to fight several times in the past few weeks.

And Seifer claimed that Squall couldn't fight dirty. Squall changed back into his uniform and took his prizes to the counter.

_Ouch_ - leather wasn't cheap. It took a good two thirds of his funds to pay for just the one outfit. Still - it wouldn't be all that long before he could get spares. And he wouldn't have to choose a shirt - the plain white one did just fine. But it meant that the pendant would have to be just plain silver, not white gold or platinum. He swung the bag containing his purchases over his shoulder, and started looking for a silver shop. The food court too, while he was at it - if he was going to meet Zell there later, he ought to be able to find it.

There was a sale at one of the women's accessory shops, and it was causing the human equivalent of a traffic jam. Squall scowled; the options were to wait or to push through a _very_ large crowd. He elected to wait, and to pass the time tried to see what was causing the trouble.

_Ear piercing?_ A crowd this big for _ear piercing?_ What were they doing, offering a selection of free earrings or something? Squall shook his head; piercings weren't that expensive - causing a crowd like this for what amounted to a minor discount...he just shrugged and chalked it up to female thinking.

On the other hand...hm. What he'd gotten was good; the clothes he'd chosen suited his style and would definitely draw attention away from his too-beautiful face. But the job wasn't done; he'd still have to wear cadet togs on official missions. The necklace he could wear, and the gloves hid the ring...an earring might just work, though he doubted he could find a lion's head or other suitable design. Of course, it wouldn't need to be much. Just enough to pull eyes off his face. Just enough to give the female cadets the impression that his disinterest was genetic and not due to the fact that most of them came on like a pack of cats in heat.

He wandered over to another shop that did ear piercings but wasn't having a sale, and checked over the possibilities. Mostly they were the sort of things that girls liked; hearts and mesmerize heads and the like. But since tastes differed, there were also various studs and heavily 'masculine' options like daggers and skulls.

And one tiny, perfect diamond. It glittered like a star fallen to earth. That was it; that would be enough. He paid the man for the diamond and the piercing job, apparently winning marks for bravery when he didn't flinch as the spike was driven through his earlobe. He listened carefully to the instructions on making the piercing permanent - cleaning the earring, how long to leave it in, how often to turn it so it didn't glue itself to the skin - then paid the man and left.

Always individual. Even in cadet togs, always individual. He checked his watch; great Hyne, he'd been at this most of the day. Amazing. Well, time to see if the work was worth it. He ducked into the bathrooms and got into his new clothes. The looks he got when he came out confirmed it; they weren't staring at his face any longer - just his dress. And most of them immediately decided they weren't going to be caught staring and looked elsewhere. Perfect.

The belts clinked slightly as he walked, but not noisily enough to give him away in the training center so he paid it no mind. He was now invisible to the people of Balamb; none of the men wanted to be caught staring, and the women didn't want to go chasing after a guy who looked like he _already _had a boyfriend. Just one more test; he found the food court, and headed over to the hot-dog vendor. From here he should be able to see Zell...yes. And of course, his brash roommate had picked up a girl, and was chatting away with her.

Squall strolled into his line of sight, and was hard pressed to hide a grin when Zell choked on his hot dog in shock. Absolutely perfect; if even _Zell_ reacted this way - who really should know better - then Squall could predict the rest of Garden's reaction just fine.

"Shit, Squall - you tryin' to pick up a sailor or somethin'?" coughed Zell as he picked up the remains of his hotdog. The girl in the next chair was laughing, which made Zell blush. "Not me," he told her. "Um - this is my roommate, Squall. Squall, this is Elise."  
  
"Roommate?" asked Elise, looking disappointed. "Oh."

"Not like that!" said Zell quickly. "Just - roommate, okay? We're up at Garden, it's sorta the rule. Nothin', you know, kinky goin' on."

"Ohhh," said Elise, grinning again. "Well, that's a relief."

Zell shot Squall a look of pure annoyance. "Well, if you were hopin' to screw my social life up, buddy, it looks like you've done it," he said sourly. "You _know_ everyone's gonna start thinkin' we're dating now."

"I'm sure you'll be able to clear things up," said Squall equably, waving a gloved hand at Elise. "Just console yourself with knowing that Seifer will have the same problem."

"Seifer?" Zell looked confused for a moment, then a look of pure evil glee came across his features. "Damn. Did I ever tell you I like the way you think?"

Squall just nodded. "I'll head back to the house," he said. "I've done what I came to do. You have fun with your friend here."

"Yeah, sure," said Zell. "Just don't get the tar beaten outta you on the way home, okay?"

* * * * * * * *

Squall found out what Zell meant not long after leaving the mall. It seemed that Seifer wasn't the only phobic around, and it further appeared that enough phobics in one place resulted in mania. Squall didn't have his gunblade with him - weapons being frowned on in Balamb proper - but the attackers were unsophisticated and Squall had had expert instruction in hand-to-hand.

Which meant that the first idiot to go down lost his homemade staff, and with _that _in his hands Squall fought off the rest easily. He kept the bat; it was good quality and might come in handy later.

So - people could react violently to a presumed homosexual. Amazing, the variety of reactions one outfit produced; this sort of behavior would've gotten the attackers expelled from Garden. He prodded the fallen town boys' unconscious bodies with his toe. Well, as his instructors had always taught him, Stupidity Kills. These boys...Squall found he didn't much care if he'd killed them or not. But on the off chance he hadn't, they needed a little lesson. He searched them, and lifted out their wallets. Enough gil here to cover getting blood off his new clothes, and also enough to get the pendant made of white gold.

Second big lesson of the mercenary; when you win, you get to loot. Assuming, of course, you have time to. He washed the staff off in a nearby fountain, and slung it over his shoulder as if it were his gunblade as he strolled back to the Dinchts'.

* * * * * * * *

Squall was greatly amused by Zell's explanations to Ma Dincht. In the end, the poor lady chalked it up to Squall being a 'repressed character' who needed to 'blow off steam', and carefully said nothing else about it.

The hike back to Garden was clear, sunny, and entirely uneventful, much to Zell's private relief. Squall bought a small block of white gold before leaving, and handed it to Zell without a word. There was more than enough there to make a good pendant.

Time to go fight dirty.


	7. Cupboards and Caverns

cupboards and caverns

"Let me out, let me out _please_!" shrieked Zell, pounding like a madman on the door. Even with his new combat gloves, he couldn't force it open.

Not with Seifer leaning oh-so-coolly on the other side, anyway.

"Now see?" said Seifer, his voice dripping with false friendliness. "I told you what would happen, now didn't I? I said, 'tell Squall to meet me in the Training Center at four thirty, or I'll make you regret it.' Didn't I say that? And now here it is, past five and no sign of the twit. I'm just keeping my promises, Chicken-Wuss."

Zell was beginning to reach panic. The closet was small and there was no way to force the door open from the inside, and it was dark. "I couldn't _find_ him, Seifer!" he yelled, trying to hide his fear. "You know he goes off and does stuff on his own - I tried, I did...let me out _please_!" and there was no hiding the genuine pleading in his voice.

"Hmm," came Seifer's dry response on the other side. "I _suppose_ it's against regulations to punish you for the fuckups of another cadet, isn't it," he said speculatively, and to Zell's almost tearful relief the door opened. He wasted not a single second in bounding out of there.

"Doesn't mean you don't need a little lesson in manners yourself, though, twerp," he finished.

Zell _hated_ being short. Seifer loomed over him like a building support, not to mention the fact that it meant he could fit into uncomfortable places like supply cupboards. "Me?" he said, too quickly. "What'd I do?"

Seifer's cat-green eyes narrowed. "I didn't hear a single 'sir' out of you," he said menacingly. "Nor an ounce of respect for my posse, the rest of the Disciplinary Committee. Ve-ry rude of you."

Zell had always had a big mouth, and when he was genuinely scared it only got worse. The words, "What, Madame OneWord and Mister YaKnow? Yeah sure Seifer, y'all got scads of respect from me," came out before the mental censors could remind him that they outnumbered him three to one. When they did, he had to fight the urge not to clap his hands over his mouth. Instead he let panic give wings to his heels, and tried to run past them, out of the Training Center.

Back where there were security cameras, that would keep Seifer from getting too enthusiastic. Assuming, of course, that he hadn't arranged for them to malfunction.

A pity he never made it so far. Raijin threw his bo staff in a spinning motion that knocked Zell off of his madly pumping feet, and the posse caught up to him.

To his credit, he fought well enough that they couldn't put him in the Infirmary before they had to back off. But only barely. When the posse finally left him to lick its own wounds (he did have his specialization going for him; the only one of the posse who could use his weapon against him was Raijin), Zell was sporting a mass of bruises all over his face and upper body, and what felt like a cracked rib or two.

That was _it_. Those three were just gonna make his life hell until he quit. He came to Garden to learn to fight, and he _liked_ to fight - but he _didn't_ like the idea of all his instruction in the art taking place via so many practicals.

Seifer tried to make Zell feel like it was Squall's fault he got beaten up. Like today - demanding Zell 'deliver' his roommate to a particular location at a particular time, and nominally getting beaten up because of it. Zell figured he knew better. It was just Seifer's way of getting an excuse to fight. Had Zell done as ordered, he was pretty sure Seifer would've found a reason to fight anyway. Seifer didn't just like to fight - he liked to _hurt_. He liked to _cause_ hurt. Zell was perfectly happy to subdue rather than kill. For him the fight was an end in itself, a competition in an equalized ring of combat. You didn't kick them once they were down - what was the point? Next time it might be _you_ on the ground.

He had to admit that was a viewpoint his moody roommate had given him. He coughed experimentally, testing his ribs. Zell had not been quite so merciful in Balamb. Maybe it was just that fights here were so much more _real_ - you got to appreciate small mercies, the mercenary's sense of honor. Street fights in Balamb had none of that. Seifer would be right at home there.

But Zell had come here, to Balamb, because those street fights hadn't been enough. He'd won most of them, kicked when his enemies were down _or_ up, fought till they knocked him cold. That was the way. Here, there was so _much_ fighting going on that you got into the habit of unofficial endings where both sides said 'enough'.

Zell shook his head. He was losing it. Stupid mercenary honor was getting him whipped by Seifer. Regularly. He might almost just paint 'Seifer's punching bag' on his forehead and have done with it.

He needed to get his fighting spirit back. He needed to remember what it was to get into a fight where damnit, you WON or you LOST. And if you LOST, you bloody well knew it. Not this constant nitpicking by the posse, just wearing you down bit by bit and no real victory ever possible.

Zell's face set; _so be it_. Wearing his manifold bruises like warpaint, his rumpled cadet's uniform like a badge of honor, Zell strode out of the Training Center hallway.

All the way around the Ringway.

And out the gates of the Garden.

Screw the mercenary's honor. He'd take his chance with the bloody monsters.

* * * * * * * *

Squall's first hint that something had changed came when he returned from combat practice in the Quad. Generally speaking, Zell couldn't handle silence - his stereo was always blaring at a volume _just_ below the point that would merit attention by the Disciplinary Committee. Squall now knew any number of punk-rock songs and bands by heart, and loathed just about every one of them.

But that night - for Squall typically trained until ten or eleven at night - the room was silent. For the very simple and obvious reason that Zell wasn't in it. He spared a frown for the change; his first thought was that perhaps Zell had moved out, the way all the roommates before him had. A quick glance around the room dismissed that possibility, though - his clothes were still hung over his bunk, his combat magazines were still scattered over his shelves, and there was an open study book on his desk.

Squall blinked; something wasn't right, but he was too tired to work out what it might be. He didn't stop training until he was too tired to control the gunblade, so most of his thought processes were currently lost in a fog that kept whispering tantalizingly about sleep. And his bunk, at long last, was in sight. He had just enough coordination left to shuck out of his sweat-soaked uniform before falling face-first onto his mattress.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * * * * * * *

That first night was the hardest. Zell had half-expected pursuit - by whom he didn't know - and was very surprised when none seemed to materialize. Maybe Seifer would decide he hadn't had enough, and come out here with the gunblade he couldn't use properly within Garden's halls. Maybe some instructor would note that he didn't show up for afternoon class, and send someone out. Maybe Squall would notice he wasn't in, and come looking.

Hah. Once he thought it out, he realized it would be a while before _anyone_ came after him. Seifer had his own wounds to lick, and probably would spend the rest of the day either healing up or hunting Squall or both. Instructors didn't mind if you missed a class or two, because cadets were always getting into scuffles and needing time to heal. And Squall wouldn't know a damn thing until late into the night at the earliest. Zell had pretty much taken over the dorm room, simply by virtue of being in it more often. For a moment Zell tried to picture Squall following him, and then gave up. It was easier to picture Squall in a pink fluffy tutu, than to picture the dour boy getting concerned over his roommate's welfare. He'd assume Zell could take care of himself, until such time as he proved he couldn't.

He couldn't stay out here, though. So...where to go? Not to Balamb town, for sure. With Ma there, that'd be the first place anyone would look - and he couldn't stand the idea of telling Ma he couldn't cut it at Garden. Not here, or in the woods. Too open here, and the woods held T-Rexaurs.

There were mountains off to the east, though. Not far at all. And in them, caves.

Perfect.

Zell started off at a steady running pace for the caverns.

* * * * * * * *

The next day, Squall awoke in silence. He couldn't believe it at first, in the pleasant haze of the newly awakened. Many days of being startled awake by blaring punk music had trained him against jerking in surprise, so that now his only obvious reaction to the sudden noise was to have his eyes go from closed to wide-open in .0003 seconds.

The silence was indeed golden. He stretched and sat up, pushing rumpled bangs out of his eyes to check the clock. Five a.m., which was the right time to be up...but no noise. He glanced over at Zell's bunk, and noticed no change. So the punk hadn't gone to bed later and gotten up earlier, which he did occasionally do. Perhaps he'd found a girl again - that did happen on occasion.

Well, whatever it was going on, Zell hadn't decided to include him. Which was fine; it meant he might actually get some work done today. He went through the morning routine of getting presentable and awake, and headed for class.

* * * * * * * *

The Fire Caverns were a great deal larger than anyone had ever told him, that was certain. Zell fought the monsters here with ease, punching and kicking his way through them almost gleefully. The really _wonderful_ thing about the place was you didn't have to worry about cooking your food, even if you didn't have a junction handy. You just set your dinner down near one of the lava pits and came back when it was done. Red bats weren't very large, or very tasty, but six or seven of them made a decent enough meal. Once fed, Zell opted to explore.

That was when he found out the caverns weren't _all_ lava. Climbing up one of the walls to get to a bats' cave, he came instead across a very cool breeze - quite welcome in the heat of the fire caverns. Another beautiful thing about it was that the entrance was too small for someone of Seifer's build to come through. He might be able to send Fujin after him, but he wouldn't be able to come himself. He entered the little corridor, and four feet later slid down a shaft of ice. At the other end was a frozen lake. Ice caverns, next to fire caverns?

There were no monsters here, not even the little red bats. It would make a decent place to sleep, he supposed. And he could probably climb out of the shaft he came in by, even with the ice. The air was clear and cold and puffed into crystallized clouds every time he breathed out. Near the ice shaft it was warmer - just below freezing. Farther in...Zell didn't really want to go farther in. It was summer outside, and his cadet uniform wasn't all that thick. But he had nothing else on his schedule for the day, so he carefully began plans to explore.

* * * * * * * *

Squall gave up pretending nothing was amiss at around the fifth period. Fifth period was hand-to-hand, a course Zell adored and shared with Squall. The only time he missed that class had been when he was put on enforced bed rest after catching a bad case of the flu. Listening carefully to the conversations around him, Squall got the impression that no one else knew where Zell was, either. He worked his way through the assigned kata, and when the class was over he headed for the Infirmary.

"No, he hasn't been here," said Kadowaki thoughtfully. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Fifth period, yesterday," said Squall calmly. "He didn't come back to the room last night, either."

Kadowaki studied Squall carefully. There was nothing in his stance or voice to indicate anything beyond mild curiosity as to Zell's current whereabouts, but she knew Squall better than that. He was worried, or at least concerned, or he would not have come here. But she had nothing to offer him. "He hasn't called in sick, Squall," she said. "I'll clear it with the Headmaster if you want to go looking for him."

Now she had Squall's attention - he studied her carefully for a few seconds, as though it hadn't occurred to him to look farther than the Infirmary. Then he gave her one quick nod and left.

He hadn't come down with something, and his friends didn't know where he was so he hadn't stayed with some female cadet. That left just one option. Squall returned to his room and lifted the Revolver out of its case. Seifer would be in the Training Center. If he made himself visible, and Seifer had answers, that would be the way to get them. Checking to make sure the Revolver's chambers were fully loaded, and the blade sharp, Squall slung the gunblade over his shoulder and headed for the Training Center.

* * * * * * * *

Something was alive in the frozen caverns. Zell could sense it, running like a shiver across his bare forearms. What he _couldn't_ do was place it. No breath of wind indicated movement, no scent of beast-fur or fang, no sound of claws or pads or flapping wings. Nothing.

And yet, something was most assuredly here. Almost, but not quite, touching him. Almost, but not quite, whispering to him.

"Who's there?" he called, and heard the nervousness in his own voice. With friends, he was all bravado - when there were people with him he could take on _anyone_. But not alone. Zell needed people to draw strength from, draw courage from.

_Draw your strength from me,_ came the whisper, delicate as frost on a January morning.

He was almost positive he hadn't heard that with his ears. But as it spoke coherently, and as he didn't have anything to lose, he pulled himself together and started searching for its source.

It was getting colder. He rubbed his fingers together, rubbed his arms to get the feeling back, and kept searching.

* * * * * * * *

Squall swung the Revolver in a down-left diagonal cut. Two Grat tentacles dropped to the floor. An overhead chop, and the creature's bulbous gas-bag of a body was punctured. It let out a keening whistle as it died.

Applause, a dry golf clap, came from around the bend. "Nice, Leonhart. Though Grats don't really _count_, you know."

Squall stood up, slung the Revolver over his shoulder, acknowledged his rival with a nod. "Seifer," he said flatly - in a tone that said 'as if my day wasn't wonderful enough, now there's morons like you.'.

Seifer was, Squall knew, no moron. And he proved it by picking up on the tone, cat-green eyes narrowing. "Not pleased to see me? But you did get my message, I see."

_Message?_ thought Squall. _What the hell's he talking about?_ But he didn't say anything. Seifer would never tell Squall what he wanted to know if Squall was so unsubtle as to _ask_ him. Instead he said, "I'm here." Blatantly, moronically obvious - and useful. It could mean just about anything.

"Then let's get started," grinned Seifer, and drew the Hyperion.

_Of course. He wanted to duel again. That must be what the 'message' was for._ Squall's eyes narrowed. _And I can guess who he was using as a 'messenger'. Damnit!_

The fight was over quickly. Squall had been in the Training Center for over an hour, waiting for Seifer, and was newer to the gunblade's ways on top of it. Seifer's one-handed style allowed him far greater freedom than Squall could use with his clunky two-handed Revolver, and he was swiftly beaten. 

He took note of the move that had disarmed him, though. He would not fall for that trick again.

In the meantime, though, Seifer held the Hyperion's tip to Squall's throat and gloated a bit, then cheerfully sheathed his gunblade and went off on his merry way.

Squall just shook his head. Seifer didn't realize he was handing Squall the keys to his own eventual defeat. Squall had lost, but he was learning to see patterns in Hyperion's movements - patterns that resulted from Seifer's own overconfidence. Seifer had not yet noticed that no move ever worked twice against his shorter rival.

In the meantime, Squall now had pieces to a different puzzle. So, Seifer had tried to use Zell as a messenger boy, hm? And then Zell disappeared - not even Seifer the wiser. Not in the dorms, not in the classes, not in the Infirmary and most certainly not here.

That only left outside. Zell had left the Garden.

Squall picked himself up and brushed the dirt from his uniform, and slung the Revolver over his shoulder as he walked stiffly out of the Training Center. Any observer might almost - _almost_ - have thought he was angry.

* * * * * * * *

It was _freezing_ in here. Zell had found a long corridor that should have been completely dark, but wasn't. A pale blue glow shone along the ice walls, beautiful and indirect and cold. Everything was cold here, not surprisingly. The whispers grew louder as he walked along it, watching his breath crystallize into fog.

_Draw strength from me. Draw courage from me._

He wasn't entirely trusting of strange ethereal voices that just happened to drop into his head without so much as a by-your-leave, though. He hadn't heard of a monster with telepathic capabilities, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. He'd only been at Garden for less than a year, after all. There were plenty more classes to get through.

He reached the end of the corridor. It ended in a solid wall of ice, pale blue light glowing from it. His breath was turning to _snow_ as he breathed - he couldn't stay here long. But before he ran back to the warmer reaches, he wanted to find out what had spoken to him. He used the sides of his palms - the parts protected by his cestus gloves - to scrape away the outer layer of frost on the ice wall.

Encased in ice so clear as to be crystal, there floated a blue skinned woman of literally divine proportions. Zell, who had cheerfully lost his virginity to a willing female cadet some months earlier, found himself breathless. 

_Free me, and I am yours. I will give you strength. I will give you courage. It is time to awaken._

"What the hell d'you mean, 'it is time to awaken'? Who the hell are you?" The girl was beautiful, all right, but women who could poke around inside his head weren't women he was highly inclined to sleep with.

_I am ancient and powerful. I wait only for the apocalypse. Free me and we will avert it._

Zell stared. "Um, if you're so powerful, how come you're trapped and need me to free you?"

The woman's eyes began to glow. _Do not be a fool. The test is not for me, it is for you. Without me you will soon die. With me you can do whatever you want. But it is not my place to command. I am a guardian, not a master._

"Guardian..." said Zell wonderingly, then comprehension sank in. "Guardian! Guardian Force!" His very own Guardian Force! Squall had found the only one the Garden had, apparently when he was only six years old. Zell began punching at the ice for all he was worth. If Squall could do it, so could he - and the idea of a woman like _that_ in his mind sounded a lot better than that shockwave bird of Squall's.

Once enough of her body was freed from the ice, the woman draped slender arms over Zell's shoulders. "**I am Shiva,"** she said aloud, in a voice like the cracking of glaciers. **"I have waited a thousand years for you."** Glowing eyes stared into Zell's own - blue matching blue, and the cold entered every part of his body.

His heartbeat slowed to a crawl and he fell unconscious to the ice-slicked cavern floor, barely breathing.

* * * * * * * *

Squall swiped at another bite bug, furious with himself.

_Why am I going after him? _he demanded of himself. _It's not like he can't take care of himself. If just fighting Seifer makes him run away maybe it's better for him to not be at Garden. He can go back to his precious Ma and do something else with his life._

_But he was fighting Seifer because of me. Because I didn't get between them like I promised I would. Damnit!_ He swung again, slicing the bite bug's wings clean off. He was uncomfortably aware that his words had the ring of excuses.

_Fine. I admit it. The hyperactive punk's gotten to me._ He pulled the trigger, blowing another bite bug apart. _With my usual talent for finding the least suitable object to fix my sights on. _He sighed, and re-sheathed his gunblade, and looked around. Zell wouldn't have gone home. Not with Seifer's usual taunt of 'crybaby' and 'chicken-wuss' ringing in his ears. Not on the plains, too easily seen. His eyes rested on the caverns and he nodded to himself. Yes - that would be where he would go. Zell liked 'homey' places - with walls and ceilings and entrances. The caverns at least roughly approximated that.

He searched the caverns thoroughly and came up empty - only spotting the high tunnel on the second trip through. _Trust Zell to play spy-in-the-tree really, really well._ Checking to make sure the Revolver was firmly holstered and latched in place, he started climbing.

He found Zell two hours later, pale and still on the floor of the cavern. He didn't even think about it, but simply grunted as he picked his roommate up and stepped carefully to get him out. The ice slide he got past by using his gunblade as an ice pick, leveraging himself upward as he hauled Zell behind him - Squall's legs looped under Zell's armpits, so that the unconscious boy was using Squall's backside as a pillow. Under other circumstances, perhaps a position Squall would not have objected to - but right now he just _knew_ his muscles would hate him for days. But there were no other options. Zell was alive, if only barely, but he needed heat. Heat was on the other side of this goddamned motherfucking ice slide, so that was where Squall would take him.

He draped Zell's arms around his neck for the last part - the climb down the fire cavern wall. One gloved hand always made sure Zell was secure before any move was made.

_I am not telling him how I got him out of there, _Squall promised himself as he finally lowered Zell to the ground in the sweltering heat of the Fire Cavern. _I think I've sacrificed enough pride for him for one day._ He tapped Zell's cheeks lightly with gloved fingertips, checking to see whether the heat was having any effect. The haul up the slide and down the wall had been no picnic, and if he had to haul Zell all the way back to the Infirmary he'd better know now. He might have a soft spot for the punk, but it was rapidly descending into volumes of sheer annoyance at the pain he was putting himself through for it.

Zell blinked, stared puzzled at Squall. "What're you doing here?" he mumbled. Then he sat up, rubbed his arms as if they were cold.

"Looking for you," said Squall coolly, his mask firmly in place. "You up to going back to Garden?"

"Yeah," said Zell, unusually quiet. Then he grinned, pure evil glee. "Yeah, I think so."

Squall watched him carefully. "What happened to you in the ice cave?"

Zell's grin didn't fade. "You'll see."

Squall just shrugged. "Let's get out of here."

He did see, in the very first fight with the ever present bite bugs. Zell had always been a hothead in combat, taking on more than he could handle and paying the price. He had the talent, but not the patience or control. Now, something had changed. He was perfectly cool in a fight, every move smooth as water, concentration complete and unwavering. He'd been good for his age before - now he was great. It wasn't a change in knowledge. It was a change in how it was applied. Squall asked again what happened in the cave.

This time, Zell shrugged. "I found a GF," he said. "Ice elemental, she says her name's Shiva. She's _old_, Squall. Really, really old."

Squall shook his head, almost sadly. "They'll take it away from you when we get back to Garden," he said. "Like they took Quezacotl from me. They'll want everyone to have access to it."

Zell just tapped the side of his head. "Doesn't matter, Squall," he said with absolute surety. "Shiva called _me_. She'll come back to me when I need her." He looked at his roommate with understanding. "Just like your Thunderbird comes back to you."

Squall turned his back and led the way back to Garden, refusing to answer with eyes or voice.

Zell strolled along behind, cool as ice.


End file.
